Geraniums by Rhea Lewin Geberer (wife)

Waiting for Geraniums


Eight green buds sit
atop a slim stem
like pale ladies
around a table
sipping evening
from warm tea

while I wait
for a red flower
promised by the
season’s passion,
the rose
without thorns.

We together are
holding vigil
at my window,
five leaves and I,
for a geranium
bright as jam

and the long
sitting,
a faithless
wait,
repossesses my
ripening. It is

better
to be born
unprepared,
to reek
of geranium
wine,
red sun
boastful days,
mute dreams,
than to
fold in a
cold hand
of doubt

(though knowing
there will be screams
this summer,
sterile yolks
a few green peaches
broken sleep).

Morning brought
the first streak of pink
and one yellowing leaf,
my dreams fervent
but blank to me
as a white plate.

Turn from
the window,
my scarce heart,
before impatience
decreases you;
the clay will keep
as the pot will be sweetened.


Rhea Lewin Geberer