I remember the poppies that grew in Rue’s garden. There was a concrete bench, and a big tall bird (a heron?) made of concrete–part of it was broken, and the steel rebar showed through and stained the bird’s long torso with a faint wash of rust. All around that bench, and through the garden, were poppies, huge orange ones, with petals like silk. I remember lying on my back on the grass and looking up at them, and past them, into the blue sky.

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