Leah Brodsky
Geraniums are children
Popping out of the soil
The little ones dressed in purple sprout
Wanting to get taller
But are stuck.
Then water falls from the sky
Like an ocean of sorrowful eyes
Laced with helpfulness
And knowing the feeling
Of being stuck in one place.
After the storm
The pansies are sprinkled with growth
They stretch their arms of velvet petals
And yawn
And sway as their fragile bodies
Blossom.