July 22cd poem: Geraniums

July 22cd poem: Geraniums

Jul 23, 2024

Geraniums

Each morning a gentle hand

with moistened towels

wipes the caked blood

off Mom's lips.

Wilted blooms drip

read on my deck.

I break them off at the stem

brutally, without remorse

and wipe their stain clean.

My Mother's lungs

are dying on the vine

with no way to pluck off

the dead members.

Dry, withered leaves

are plucked

and discarded from my plant

in the same manner.

What was done today?

I ask the nurse as she

combs Mom's hair and

straightens her robe.

I slide the pot East,

turning it to get the full sunlight.

I use the water nose to

drench the plant,

flooding the pot to the brim.

Her wheelchair is pushed

to the window

where the morning sun

warms her and soothes.

Then, I go inside,

to admire the view

from my window.

By Annette Gagliardi

Published in Open Your Eyes: A Poetry Anthology, edited by Kevin Watt, Social Design Publishing, 2016.

Published in A Short Supply of Viability by A. Gagliardi, The Poetry Box Press, 2022.

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