Poetry

Red Geraniums

for Anna & Neil The red geraniums on the ledge remind me of my parents—and how they grew the same flowers in our garden on the other side of the world. Here, on the cliffs at Santorini, the geraniums breathe Aegean air; the sun warms their blood and they tremble in the winds like the wings of swallows before first flight. There will be nowhere to fly except earthwards when their petals and leaves fall off. All the morning watering in the world will not put off that inevitable flight. In the meantime they glow red as fire and deep…

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