Red Poppies

The poppies are too cheerful, squealing for even a tablespoon of attention.

Look at how they open wide like the mouth of a Siberian wild cat.

I told you I didn't want to receive flowers, chocolates, anything at all.

The redness of the poppies speaks to me when I stare at them

Gently whispering my name across the heart of the valley.

Pluck these poppies away from me: the roots, the petals, and the stem

As they deserve a lavish vase and bloom unapologetically in fresh water. 

My water is acidic and polluted, unworthy of your red poppies. 

As much as I resist your poppies, they stubbornly stay alive and thrive

Somehow, the redness blooms into my heart, staining my heart chambers. 

Maybe I will change my mind about your red poppies next Valentine's Day.