by Sarah Kiepper
Poppies are used for remembrance of wars fought and
lives lost, lest we forget the blood spilled to free us.
They grew from dark, green stalks next to the cool, sandstone
of our home’s foundation; explosions of orange and red silk.
Their dark centers spoke to their history of
destroying generations due to their opiate power.
We were not allowed to pick them due to the fragility of the
petals so they remained rooted in the clay filled dirt of our yard.
They would dance in the breeze, sometimes partnering with
lilies, creating a bright contrast against the tan walls.
My niece, born last year, has poppy colored hair—an
homage perhaps to the flowers of her aunt’s childhood?
She displays her strength using both voice and beauty, blue
eyes laughing as she learns to root herself in this world.
She dances, fills our hearts with her perfume, and heals us through
her spirit as we remember the wars within our family and the lost lives.
Sarah Kiepper works in higher education and is currently earning her EdD at Kent State University. Her poetry and photographs were previously published in the Akros Review, Penguin Review, and Anomaly Poetry’s Tidings.