Contained

in mind of a painting of poppies

Behind the walls of proper black dresses
With minimal lace or adornment
They stand in the shadows
Near the windows.
Past the windows, out on the field
The tomato splotches of color
Lean in the wind
Ruffle the petals
Stretch their stems.
Corsets made from the skeletons of sea monsters
Hold rigid the human stems
Plucked from the valley
Before they blossomed.
Flowers picked by
Fragile, milky hands,
By bodies bent stiffly downward to reach them,
And then wrapped in green waxed paper to look
Innocent.

Neatly clipped flowers in tight lipped vases
Do not grow so well.