Dandelion
By Mac Antigua
A white card.
Hardy sixteen point ivory card stock
When held, its firm edges dig into the heart of a handshake
My name centered in bold, formal, formidable arial
hovers above the title of Director
of National Recruitment & Expansion
and sits subservient to the logo of
a
Native American hand in vibrant red and orange,
with
rays that emanate from it’s palm to represent the three generations that
proceed
us, and the three generations that arrive after us
A score is stacked rigidly on my desk, while hundreds more
rest in a nearby cabinet,
smelling of crisp, corporate citrus.
Others hide in suit jacket pockets, wallets, and glove
compartments. Like agents
incognito,
sleeper
cells waiting for activation.
This is my status. Symbol.
Akin to a Chase Bank 30-year
mortgage,
or my cobalt blue 2009 Subaru
Outback.
An affirmation
that it was worth getting that postgraduate degree.
The mark of noble
surrender amongst my former coterie of nonprofit
mercenaries
This is not just a business card. This is the currency of chilly conference plenaries, my
communion offering at cold call
meetings.
The dandelion seed head that will take root in on other
desks, in other suit jacket pockets or other
glove
compartments. Hopeful that it will
germinate into prosperous reconnections.