I traced the outline:
5 perfect petals
on the shiny red metal sheet.
Pa used the tin snips
snip, snip, snip
to carefully cut around the shape.
Together we hammered the petals up
one at a time.
“It looks like a leaky cup!” I laughed.
Then I sprayed
one puff of black
into the flower’s centre.
Pa attached the wire stem
and handed it to me
like it was a long-stemmed rose.
But when I carried our poppy outside
and proudly placed it in the new-turned dirt
Pa began to cry.
He knelt down so I could hug him tight
then whispered through his tears,
“I hope you never know what war really means.”
© Kristin Martin 2018