Toddler Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

Toddler

The evening’s paper is clear
Secret-poppy-grow, farmers
Eyes
Do not see
They interpret
What experience masses
So, secret poppy grower
Is one familiar
Story to me
Child

Past relives, revives, in my
eye. See needy earn living.
Then, I
A toddler
Baby-walk to
Take the poppy milk
That my father grew
In deep secret
To feed the
family.
Iranian farmers must grow
If are left hungry or alone.

What I see
In this article
Is my experience
Of my father; draught.
Secret growing poppy
Not some crime.
I understand
The need
Farmers have mouths to feed
Duty is first and it Supersede.