Poppies In July

Little poppies, little hell flames,
Do you no harm?

You flicker. I cannot touch you.
I put my hands among the flames. Nothing burns.

And it exhausts me to watch you
Flickering like that, wrinkly and clear red, like the skin of a mouth.

A mouth just bloodied.
Little bloody skirts!

There are fumes that I cannot touch.
Where are your opiates, your nauseous capsules?

If I could bleed, or sleep!---
If my mouth could marry a hurt like that!

Or your liquors seep into me, in this glass capsule,
Dulling and Stilling

But colourless. Colourless.

                                       Sylvia Plath