The Poppies Are There
A Poem
I know they are here, beneath and still,
I wish I had come barefoot but there was so much
Road to walk to get to you.
And there is so much weight on my hands and my chest,
So much more than I could fit in my backpack of words
And poems I wanted to shower
Over your bed.
I feel it slipping through my fingers, my knuckles
Hurt from punching the wall of time. Still, time beats me.
It punches me in the eyes, suddenly everything is blurred and different.
Suddenly, four years passed by me. I could not see anything.
The referee pulls me by the wrist, did I win?
No, there’s no winning this. There’s no end to this
Impenetrable field you reside in.
I know they are here, sprouting; there’s life, after all.
I can almost sense their vibration, rising, leaving their shells.
The ruins greet me with their indestructible grins, brick upon brick;
They resist more than you, more than me.
Was it the prayers of the past that kept the stones aligned?
Was it faith?
The stone with your name on still stands too. Faith.
Poems are, in the end, just like prayers.
I leave the heavy arches in search of you.
Black whiskers tremble and observe as I rise and fall
From the tall grass, just as my chest rises and falls
With the poundings of my heart.
I know they are here but I wish they would break the cement
And guide my steps with their little red heads
And their little dark eyes.
Yet, they remain silent, but closer to
The soles of my feet.
I keep on searching. I walk on many pages of history.
So many names, so many ghosts waiting for a visitor.
I wish I had a token for each.
I keep on searching, I must avoid their screams
Their chanting; I’m sorry, I took this road for one
Specific spirit.
One day, I might be able to spare more visits.
I find you.
It is like the pictures I have seen, but now it moves.
No, I move. I walk towards you with a load of years of waiting.
This is our first interaction (is it?).
Hi.
I brought you a poem.
I brought you a pen.
You’d laugh.
I know they are here, something rubs my ankles but I cannot see
Because I dare not look away. This is the moment all of my clocks
Were counting down to.
This is the reason for my prayers, my poetry.
I need to sit and sip this view, slowly, like hot tea.
There’s so much I want to say to you yet, words are dead.
I can only feel, and perhaps years later I will know how
To talk about this.
Brits, you have benches all across the city but not here?
This is where I want to stay and wait; perhaps if I try I’ll become
Steady and still like the ruins outside.
No one will notice me and I’ll stay
By your side.
I know they are here but I could not care.
I’m mourning a life I do not have, mourning the plane
I know I’ll have to get. I want to undo my footsteps
So I can walk them again, up the neverending hill.
I left sweat on my way up, I’ll leave tears on my way back.
Something pokes my shins, I slap it away like a bug.
A red, bloody petal slaps me back, its cyclopy pistil stares at me
As if asking me to wake up. A dozen buds braid their way around you,
They highlight your name with their colours, they move ferociously under my feed
Like centipedes.
You’d laugh. You’d write three poems way better than this.
The poppies bloom around my wrist like a bracelet,
A one-way promise I’ll be back, I’ll deceive time.
We’ll dance this again, we’ll pollinate history and
Hum our words like the bees, saying so much in silence.
Vocalizing so much through our teeth.
I go back, I cannot see anything but the road,
The mossy path. I focus so I won’t fall or realise
What I’m leaving behind.
I cannot see but I know I’ll be back, I’ll be brought back
By the same prayers and seeds.
This land I’m now in might be barren but
I know the poppies are there
Waiting for me.
© 2022, Giulia de Gregorio Listo. All Rights Reserved.
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