By Robert Rothman
I know of no deeper orange than a poppy
sprung in spring, cracking open hard earth
sprung in spring, cracking open hard earth
on a slender green stem, all the sunlight of
dawn gathered and burnished to a golden
sheen, so rich you drink it in and go off
intoxicated. And when you come, later in the
season, upon a field of poppies, stretching
across the bland land like a visitation from
a cosmic spirit, what can’t you do, so
poppified; sunnified; lifted up and out of
winter’s bleak domain. Spring springs
from you, you slender stem of life that
won’t be kept down, resists being ground
down, you who crack open winter-
weary thoughts into color and light. Pop
up, pop open, poppify. You too an amazement.
Robert Rothman lives in Northern California, near extensive trails and open space, with the Pacific Ocean over the hill. His work has appeared in Atlanta Review, Meridian Anthology of Contemporary Poetry, Tampa Review, Willow Review, and over ninety-five other literary journals in the United States, England, Canada, Ireland, Wales and Australia. Please see his website (www.robertrothmanpoet.com) for more information about him and his work.