Don Hogle | Red Geraniums

photo credit: Don Hogle

Red Geraniums

 

Was it on the ferry to Mount Athos

that the spring sun felt hot on my face,

the wind still cold on the back of my neck?

A priest with a black hat and straggly beard

snoozed next to me. Gulls flew alongside,

catching pieces of bread thrown to them,

their bodies unnaturally close to us.

 

Or was it in Budva, beneath the sign that read

Sailor, where someone took my picture?

Wearing my aviator Ray-Bans, arms folded

across my chest, I looked comically resolute.

 

No, it must have been in Kotor

with its trumpet blasts of red geraniums. Yes,

I sat in the warm sun, the air cool on my neck;

the flowers spilling from the window boxes

were so bright, I said, Yes, run me through

with your unrepentant red, for I have no desire

to ever leave here.

 

 

Published in Artemis, Volume XXX, 2023

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A lifelong student of languages and an avid traveler (to some 40 odd countries), Don Hogle blogs at Postcards from a Traveler. Hogle is also the author of two poetry collections, a chapbook titled Madagascar, published by Sevens Kitchens Press in 2020, and a full-length book, Huddled in the Night Sky, forthcoming from Poets Wear Prada, fall of 2024. His poetry has appeared in Apalachee Review, The Carolina Quarterly, Hayden’s Ferry, Full Bleed, and The Inquisitive Eater, among other places. He was a finalist for both The Missouri Review’s 2021 Jeffrey Smith Editors’ Prize and Green Linden Press’ 2021 Wishing Jewel Prize, and a semi-finalist for Naugutuck River Review’s 2021 Narrative Poetry Prize. He lives happily in Manhattan without pets, children, or spouses of any gender or species.