The Geranium
When I put her out, once, by the garbage pail,
She looked so limp and bedraggled,
So foolish and trusting, like a sick poodle,
Or a wizened aster in late September,
She looked so limp and bedraggled,
So foolish and trusting, like a sick poodle,
Or a wizened aster in late September,
I brought her back in again
For a new routine--
Vitamins, water, and whatever
Sustenance seemed sensible
At the time: she'd lived
So long on gin, bobbie pins, half-smoked cigars, dead beer,
Her shriveled petals falling
On the faded carpet, the stale
Steak grease stuck to her fuzzy leaves.
(Dried-out, she creaked like a tulip.)
For a new routine--
Vitamins, water, and whatever
Sustenance seemed sensible
At the time: she'd lived
So long on gin, bobbie pins, half-smoked cigars, dead beer,
Her shriveled petals falling
On the faded carpet, the stale
Steak grease stuck to her fuzzy leaves.
(Dried-out, she creaked like a tulip.)
The things she endured!--
The dumb dames shrieking half the night
Or the two of us, alone, both seedy,
Me breathing booze at her,
She leaning out of her pot toward the window.
Near the end, she seemed almost to hear me--
And that was scary--
So when that snuffling cretin of a maid
Threw her, pot and all, into the trash-can,
I said nothing.
But I sacked the presumptuous hag the next week,
I was that lonely.
Theodore Roethke
_______
No geraniums here, either; and of my 500 day lilies, only 15 bloom today. A dearth of day lilies. A dram of fragrance in a jar on the desk.
I am direly lonely for peonies, for poetry, for pie, and all I can manage is one of them. I shouldn't even manage that, but a girl all by her lonesome has to eat.
CONFESSION: I miss D. (I know, I know, but it's still true. I became accustomed to his pretty face, as cliche-cute as that song, as cliche-clinched as my biochemical response to him, and his to me).
I could to say that I have memories to kindle a few fires at the retirement center, but then I already had those--a ton of them from Harvey, and a few more from my few years of college dating. I wonder why I can't live without some kind of physical contact, why I craved the idea of D. and the exquisite anatomy of him, the acrobatics with him, and not the actuality of him. (Why the heck did he want to marry me? That ruined everything, and everything wasn't perfect before then. All the jealousy, daily photos, etc).
Do you think, Universe, that there is a little love and trust and friendship out there for me, ever again? I was so very blessed with Harvey, and without him I'm just a piece of, well, pie. Or a few crumbs of crust.
And until this I prided myself at being good at the relationship thing. I guess that's a talent I lost.
I was that lonely. "The Geranium," Theodore Roethke
Share |
2 comments:
Well, it's like dancing isn't it? You can't do it all by yourself. You have to have a partner who at least knows the steps and can be taught the fancy stuff. AND YOU HAVE TO BE DOING THE SAME DANCE!
Well, that's what I think.
And I think you'll find someone interested in dancing with you. I do. To a dance in which you can twirl and spin and feel good about.
Thank you for your faith. I want to be in a good relationship, one where we actually like each other and not just the pheromonic response.
I know how to be in a long-term relationship, but I don't know how to be in a particularly new one.
Thanks so much for cheering me up, for offering me a little hope.
XOXO,
Pamela
Post a Comment