Teresa Pashkowsky

How came this Japanese poppy
To bloom alone, far afield in a middle meadow,
With grasses and yellow buttercups around it,
Lifting its scarlet splendor, bright as a flame,
Like a ruddy moon, like a torch in the earthbound hands
Of buried Persephone, high over flowering weeds?—
A wind blew the seed from a lovely garden,
Over the soft warm waters at night, when the stars
Fringed down or lifted lashes of drowsy light
For the soothing heat of September.
But whence were you, Teresa Pashkowsky,
Here amid drug stores, movies, squabble and alleys,
Rising to song, and the soul of Lucia, Thais,
And fame in the world?