On Geraniums

This morning, I refilled the vase where roots were sprouting freely,
Tickling the water. The cuttings seemed like lush fingers; they wanted

To grow as far as possible. In the filtered light I wondered if my gardening
Knowledge would be sufficient for them. I thought of how, as a child, I’d

Failed to keep alive a small chameleon in a tank, its dry, delicate skin, how
Whole pieces would shed periodically like leaves (which is normal). After a while

It died for no reason. If I was merely unfortunate in this, like a Moomin
On a bender hitting a cyclist, perhaps the motor vehicle of my husbandry

Could be certified safe in the present. The other geraniums in my flat have
Peculiar forms, woody and bent like tree branches. Age makes them go wrong

(Or lack of pruning). I wasn’t sure if cutting them short would actually help
Them to flower – it seemed counterintuitive, like smothering a purebred kitten

Or hiding a hot dog in someone’s pocket. When I was nine, a boy I didn’t know
Gave me a single carnation. I was so embarrassed that I handed it off

To a teacher. This is to say that being surprised by flowers isn’t always a good
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