Poppy Nation

Poppy Nation

 

 

when he returned from the war

I gave my father a field of poppies

for pop

as his garden

 

their sound made explosions go off in his head

the petals reminded him of shards of metal

ringing in his ears

 

in the foxhole

within which he still dwelled

helmet tattooed

 

with shells

that lay on beaches stormed

and the cries of men

 

who hugged guns

with what was left of fingers

or hands

or brains shattered and scattered

through

fields of poppies

for pop

and brother Johnny

and Nurse Marie

 

with blood on her uniform

and memory stained red

 

I think my father knew her

and said thanks

once

when she patched him up

and sent him back out to those

fields of poppies

no longer swaying but trampled

 

rotting with sensitivity

curling into shriveled petals

angry at the blue skies

 

sick of the damn wars

wanting to join those

in Father's backyard

 

there is chair on the porch

facing that garden

and all the poppies singing

"with God on our Side"

and it's wondering

 

where my father is.

 

 

erin-cilberto

1/6/24

Reviews

[Betty Hermelee]

Dear J.
There are so many beautiful metaphors in this poem…. Poppy fields alone are luscious to the eye, but not when they are being used as minefields during a war….or burial sites for those bludgeoned to death…so one can’t even recognize where their own relatives are buried…..it may be quiet but memories remain…..
Warmly, B

[jacob erin-cilberto]

Thank you for your insightful, beautiful review, Betty,
j.

[Betty Hermelee]

You're very welcome J., enjoyed the poem;' have been to Cambodia and have seen where the minefields are, now covered with poppies!!!
Warmly, B