Along the Poppy Pathway

Years passed. I didn’t realise I was here;
the first prescription brought to mind the trip
to Athens, and the red relentless cheer
of poppies in the agora. Their grip

was subtle as I lay among them, free
from early-age arthritis through the Spring.
The heat, some said, had benefited me;
I wasn’t sure. The trusty torturing

of inflammation very soon resumed
and brought me to that first-known opioid.
My history, from then on, was best inhumed;
I’d taught myself, already, to avoid

the thoughts that hurt, that don’t do any good –
perhaps the poppies helped me on my way.
I’d lost the golden years by adulthood,
yet found some comfort to dispel the grey

and contemplate again the bright blue skies
above me, not in Greece, but anywhere
along the pathway with its gleaming eyes
and heady fragrance through the waning air.

Felicity Teague
 
If you have any thoughts about this poem,  Felicity Teague would be pleased to hear them