The Veteran Handing Out Poppies
A poem
It’s a blustery day, but the Farmer’s Market is still bustling
with people, and vendors, and fresh veggies, and
homemade sourdough and empanadas that taste like they
came straight from my Aunt’s kitchen. And there is music,
and there are puppies, and there are children
blowing bubbles and eating cookies. An older
gentleman is standing at the market entrance, and he smiles
at my son as he scampers by on the sidewalk. Hi, my
son says brightly. The man peers down at him, eyes twinkling
beneath his Army Veteran baseball cap. I tell my boy to
thank him for his service, and he does. Then the vet reaches
into his jar of red poppies and pulls one out for my son.
I tell him that I don’t have any cash. It’s ok, he says. Just
put it on your jacket, and wear it proudly. And so, I fasten it to
the zipper of my boy’s coat and say goodbye. And as we
look for vegetables for dinner, buy empanadas for lunch, and
contemplate getting an extra jar of pickles, I think of the election
that just passed and the heartache it has caused. I think of my
grandfather, who served in the Navy, and the honor with which he
conducted himself, and I wonder how we will make any sense
out of this mess. But then my little boy smiles at someone else,
says hi to everyone he passes, and runs up to an older kid he’s never
met just to hug them, and I can’t help but feel like, somehow,
we’ll figure it out. That we have…
