The little negro girl who lives across the alley
Brings back a red geranium from church;
She repeats her little formulae of God.
On a third-floor window sill.
Their perfume comes
With the smell of heat
From the asphalt street.
Withered and dry
Long laid by
In the sweepings of the memory.
The little negro girl across the alley
Brings a geranium from Sunday school