Wild Poppies
And how do you Survive? Your long throat,
your red-rag-to-a-bull head?
You rise heavy in the night, stars drinking
from your poppy neck.
Your henna silks serenade me
underneath the breadth of the Pyrenees.
You move like an opera,
open like sea anemones.
You are earth's first blood.
How the birds love you,
I envy your lipstick dress.
You are urgent as airmail, animal red,
Ash Wednesday crosses tattooed on your head.
Your butterfly breath
releases your scents, your secrets,
bees blackening your mouth
as your dirty red laundry
all hangs out.
By Marion McCready
eightychoices.
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