Friday, March 28, 2003

The medicinal smell of geraniums

The medicinal smell of geraniums awakens in me
sensations of warmth and eyelevel flowers
a hillside cascading in small pastel petals
don’t really care much for stamens and calyxes
little boy stuck with his parents and puzzlebook
sunshine so bright that my eyes try to hide from it
‘go outside get some air, daddy needs quiet time’
he was the chaplain for malibu summercamp
I was the baggage he carried like Faberge
eggs - precious, beautiful, kept on a shelf
but occasionally I’d escape into childhood
those are not the times remembranced
by pharmacopeal effusions
just a moment standing silent
by the steep and ragged hillside
in my little canvas keds
the flowers honest, sturdy, breathing
all the freshness of the seabreeze
thinking that the world is growing
living things erupt and change
my tiny body not so different
see the roots right through the soil
smell so sharp my eyes would water
brings me back to potted flowers
on the balustrade before me
verdant scallops, fuscia dollops
close my eyes and hold that breath
inside me for a couple seconds
give the fouryearold a blast
of unadulterated life
he likes it still and goes back to
his puzzlebook with silent smile