I see my Aunt. She’s bending down to smell the geranium. My Aunt is a slight woman. She’s shrunk. She’s frail and thin after my uncle’s illness and death. Now she’s been evicted. At 68, she looks at least 10 years older. Her patio is full of plants, but the geranium is her favorite. Where are we going to go, my stuff and me? These plants are a big part of my life. They have to have a home. Where are we going to end up? My Aunt walks to the corner of the patio. She fills the water can. First the it’s geranium’s turn, then all the others, the little pieces of plants that she’s picked up here and there. The patio smells fresh and clean. My Aunt smiles. I’ll go somewhere. I am not dead yet.