It was in
the red poppy
that took me down
that lane again
when I’m standing near a corner garden
and the light turns
walk Walk!
the window screams by
but I’m stuck in your blood
from the way
I can’t even cross the street
without thinking about death
and feeling the cross
bough
between my brows
bending to my hand red in the palm
from the poppy I picked
but how He didn’t
deserve to bleed
and how I do and
so am
placing petals over the wounds
and peeling inside
from the pain


Atalie Young ’05 is an English and American Literature and Language concentrator in Quincy House.

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