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