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"Poppies", by Mary Oliver

Updated: Dec 6, 2020


The poppies send up their orange flares; swaying in the wind, their congregations are a levitation


of bright dust, of thin and lacy leaves. There isn’t a place in this world that doesn’t


sooner or later drown in the indigos of darkness, but now, for a while, the roughage


shines like a miracle as it floats above everything with its yellow hair. Of course nothing stops the cold,


black, curved blade from hooking forward— of course loss is the great lesson.


But I also say this: that light is an invitation to happiness,

and that happiness,


. . .


when it’s done right, is a kind of holiness, palpable and redemptive. Inside the bright fields,


touched by their rough and spongy gold, I am washed and washed in the river of earthly delight—


and what are you going to do— what can you do about it— deep, blue night?


#poetry #maryoliver

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