Poppified

By Robert Rothman

I know of no deeper orange than a poppy 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.