Forever embalmed in the corner of my mind
is a red poppy flower,
bending with the breeze.
It was your favorite flower.
I remember how happy you were
when they were in your garden,
and you would point them out to me often.
But the poppies began to disappear
year after year,
until they weren’t in your garden anymore.
I remember how sad you were
and how you asked me to plant more,
in the fallow soil that remained.
But the years crept slowly by
and the garden did lie,
Until one day the men came
and ripped the garden out of the earth,
and covered it with sidewalk concrete.
I remember the poppies
so red and soft in the summer sun,
they lie embalmed in my minds eye.
But the garden is a memory
the poppies have died,
and no height of my desire
shall ever give a chance
to plant those poppies again.