Sometimes Writing’s Like That

by Jane Attanucci

The bumptious geranium I bought

to brighten the table where I write

dropped all its blossoms at once

or so it seemed to me.

The leaves multiplied and spread

huge, green wide-open hands.

With careful measures of food and water,

occasional pinches and snips , I tended

its flowerless growth all summer.

While in neighboring gardens, I watched

a plenteous parade of lilacs and peonies,

dahlias, day lilies and blue, blue hydrangea.

In late August, as the outdoor cascade of colors faded,

a red, frilly head crowned on my coddled kitchen shrub.

Jane Attanucci spent her first career as a professor of psychology and women’s studies. Since retiring, she’s studied poetry at the Cambridge Center for Adult Education and the Fine Arts Work Center, Provincetown, MA.  Her poems have appeared in a variety of journals, including the Aurorean,  Halfway Down the StairsRight Hand Pointing, Still Crazy and Third Wednesday. She received the New England Poetry Club Barbara Bradley Prize in 2014. Her chapbook, First Mud, a finalist in the Blast Furnace Contest, 2014, was published by Finishing Line Press, 2015.