geraniums

I made a mess planting you-

Soil all over my Paris apartment.

I tried to cover the hardwood floor with binbags,

Plunged my fingers deep into the dark wet clods

And churned.

Your seeds were so fragile,

Small and light, destined for the wind.

Carefully, I didn’t bury you too deep.

 

In the spring I pictured you,

Small germ sprouting,

With little to keep you but enthusiasm,

Hungry stalk reaching for the sun.

Every morning I watered you and gazed at you.

Imagine my delight when you surfaced,

Green, fresh, determined.

You have never looked less vulnerable.

 

Together we labored to make sure you grew,

Moving you in and out

Of the strong light.

I fidgeted waiting for your flowers,

They came together with salt from my eyes.

One pink delicate, one sultry red.

No flower was more beautiful,

Than the one that grew from your body.

 

Then your trunk thickened,

Like the stems of field potatoes.

I looked in horror as the summer heaved

Your leaves with musk and heat.

You stank of greenhouses and farmgirls.

With roots deeper than your leaves,

You gripped and squeezed my soil,

For life and water.

 

Pigeons came to turn you into nests,

Pecking.

Your frame bent and twisted.

We laughed together after

I had chased the flying rats away.

Anger and sorrow ricocheting,

As I looked at you, familiar now,

My holy geraniums.

 

I took you to Marina’s for the autumn,

So she could fee you while I galivanted away,

To play with microscopes and men.

In a large supermarket bag I carried you

Across town, in and out of the metro,

The farthest you will ever travel,

Stunned as you are,

Stuck in a silver pot.

 

I ignored you over winter.

There was no windowsill to my life anymore.

A sideglance at the square and space

Where you should have been.

Were you cold? I wouldn’t know.

Defeated, dying, you raged,

Until your leaves turned crimson.

Then finally I saw you.

 

I trimmed your limbs,

Plucked clean the shriveled flowers.

Cut after cut,

I brought you back to life.

With the scarred dignity of a survivor

You look out onto the park view,

That sky you can’t get enough of,

Alive and living.

 

21/04/2019