Proof

Proof

In the garden, the geranium I kept alive
in the garage all winter, is beginning
to bloom. Proof

that living things have a desire to grow despite
the horrors inflicted on them. Children starving
in war-torn regions have no idea the history

and greed and power that placed them in such
peril. Soon, the words humanitarian aid
will be erased along with the rest of our historical sins.

Somewhere a city under siege will collapse under the weight
of allies gone missing, our country complicit. Yet here,
in the garden, four different varieties of cherry tomatoes stand

stalwart in the rain. Cucumbers look forward to becoming
pickles. Lemon thyme sends aroma of Sicily. And basil recalls
the day that even in the depths of dementia, my grandmother

could name the flower under her nose. Basilico, she said smiling,
a glimmer of recognition flaming her lips.