The premiere issue of Poppy Magazine has arrived, conjuring up images of Glenda the Good Witch of the North twinkling in technicolor sparkle-dreams, waving a protective spell over a sound stage of billowing magic flowers.
One of my earliest memories is of Poppies: there were always flowerbeds & gardens my grandmother tended to & I never once misbehaved in the garden, until one day… I knew as a child not to do this, but uncontrollably I ran & ate handfuls of the red blossoms outside my dad’s apartment. Dropping instantly into a smash sleep on the grass, I passed into dreams long forgotten. I don’t remember ever waking up.
personal fable 