POPPIES.

we saw poppies

in September ;

bloomed out of the neck

and into the dirt.

calloused hands

made bouquets

for fun

or for the funeral.

the saints

and the widows

sought no reprieve

in the ill-gotten garden.

and where you wore

your poppy

determined how you 

were treated.

some wept.

some sang.

others did

a little of both.

and in the midst of deciding

if it was destruction

or dialogue,

we saw more poppies

in January.

covering the hood

of beaten up car

with stuffed animals

in the front seat.

we barely had time

to decide what to do

with the poppies of yesterday.

and now we have poppies

to deal with today.

some will weave crowns,

and some will weave swords,

and some will weave sorrow,

and some will weave wars,

and some will say

the poppies are from

the same branch,

but don't you listen.

oh, don't you listen.

and when Freedom meets failure,

build your own bouquet

and make beauty

out of ashes.