In the Poppies

I did not fall asleep
in the poppies
with my brothers,
nor with my sisters.

The scent of the poppies
lingers, like rumination,
or like the unexpected
trail left by cold fingers.

Tear-soaked pillows
share their comfort
in this latter day.

I am alive and safe,
but I weep
and I remember
how the poppy scent
covered those unknown
brothers and sisters

like a blanket.

Helmet pillows

for the never-waking.

© CG Tenpenny, 2021.

Remembering my brothers and sisters-in-arms who did not come home. Sleep peacefully.

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