Poppies

House sitting in Berkeley feeding Jack’s turtle and watering the garden when it doesn’t rain Last night while I slept in my nephew’s bed under the down comforter covered in orange flannel the red poppies opened in the back garden They are a foot taller than the orange California poppies with the pale feathery leaves Today it rained flattening their exuberance diminishing their brilliance I must wait for the next bent and fuzzy head to reach to the sun and fill to bursting I see them in my sleep waiting for me There is a mystery there of the past growing into the future the empty rooms at my brother’s house the unhappy garden Or the small babe who will soon return to the empty crib in the next room I want to curl into it to warm it for her Imagine counting your time on earth in days and weeks Do you sometimes remember that heart breaking innocence a flash of a hummingbird who has mistaken your hat for another bit of garden It’s all his garden you know we are keeping it bright for him and waiting In the late afternoon I dozed over my book a story about Africa I hear him first buzzing and clicking around my head I am grateful the way a child is awed by its first butterfly landing on the window sill and the way the light breaks into spirit particles through the blinds She will stare for hours in her crib breaking into a chain of small laughter like the clover chain she will some day tie together in her garden Her smooth face flushed red by the heat and the poppies reflection A laugh that grows stronger with each delight And we will join her Remembering Berkeley, CA, 2000