Behind me
brokenness,
ahead of me
brokenness.
Broken ancestors
broken descendants.
I have no descendants,
I go into nothing.
I came from nothing,
grew up from my
own ground,
to stand alone.

To try to build a life
from the right color
geranium,
the only geranium shade
I like,
one of the few flowers
that can suvive
the dry country
where I live.

Trying to convince
myself the only
choice is the choice
I would have chosen
had there been
more choices.
Trying to swallow
the bitter knowledge
that I can never
know,
and so will always
wonder.

It is a cheery salmon pink,
that bloom,
somehow uplifting.
Geraniums are good,
worthy,
like beans.
Plain. Sustaining.

I break off another
stalk, for another
pot.
In winter they
grow leggy
and bare and fill me
with despair.
Finally, they bloom
I try desparately
to care.

Behind me brokenness,
ahead of me brokenness.

5/21/02