Red Geraniums
Gerainiums
Geraniums
Wilted blooms drip
red on my deck.
I break them off at the stem
brutally, without remorse
and wipe their stain clean.
Each morning a gentle hand
with moistened towels
wipes the caked blood off
Mom’s lips.
Dry, withered leaves
are plucked
and discarded from my plant
in the same manner.
My mother’s lungs
are dying on the vine
with no way to pluck off
the dead members.
I slide the pot East,
turning it to get the full sunlight.
I use the water hose to
drench the plant,
flooding the pot to the brim.
How is she today?
I ask the nurse as she
combs Mom’s hair and
straightens her robe.
Then, I go inside,
to admire the view
from my window.
Her wheel chair is pushed
to the window
where the morning sun warms her and sooths.
by A. Gagliardi