When Poppies Bloomed

Mother had good taste,
very fair skin, war-tested
love for us. And hats.

She’d spread a picnic
when the poppies bloomed a short
spell in the desert.

And she made the best
of it: deviled eggs, iced-tea,
tiny sandwiches.

All round us poppies
overachieved, red and gold,
while mother hovered.

Author: Tom D'Evelyn

Tom D'Evelyn is a private editor and writing tutor in Cranston RI and, thanks to the web, across the US and in the UK. He can be reached at tom.develyn@comcast.net. D'Evelyn has a PhD in Comparative Literature from UC Berkeley. Before retiring he held positions at The Christian Science Monitor, Harvard University Press, Boston University and Brown University. He ran a literary agency for ten years, publishing books by Leonard Nathan and Arthur Quinn, among others. Before moving to Portland OR he was managing editor at Single Island Press, Portsmouth NH. He blogs at http://tdevelyn.com and other sites.

4 thoughts on “When Poppies Bloomed”

  1. Here you manage a palpable gratitude at the same time as a pocketful of wry (you big ol’ overachiever you.) Best/of it is a delightful enjambment. This is a poem of perfect balances. A keeper (I dragged it to a favorite poems folder, my personal anthology.)

    Liked by 1 person

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