"Poppy Love" by Martha Silano
Poppy Love
You’re a yolk, a paper-thin pond at dawn,
anthers waving like anemones in a rising tide.
With your pineapple stigma, you and all
your sisters tigress the path to the sea.
Floppy hat for a sanderling, you hail from California,
land of mythology and gold. Impossibly common,
ubiquitous along back roads, you would never harm
an approaching katydid but serve as a parasol
for a semi-palmated plover. You’re the splotch
of mustard on Van Gogh’s palette, tint he transformed
into wheat fields, sunflowers. With your bronchial leaves
I remember to breathe, with your spear-like capsules
I’m reminded humans aren’t always kind, but flouncy skirts
give way to fruiting bodies. Your round black seeds persist.
Photo Credit: Staff