A tree that demands your attention

after the Catalpa speciosa in Graceland Cemetery, Chicago  

the sidewalk continues to harbor arrangements of small dead things 

auburn bird, freshly adolescent mouse, cicada 

after cicada after cicada summer’s casualties splayed on the concrete

I head for the cemetery to avoid considering death 

the trees are spilling secrets again, pearly petals 

strewn over the grassy floor speciosa means showy 

and not in the way I itch to show you how time seems to expand around you 

rather, like the gaudy corsages decorating thin branches  

behind your head hang the relentless fruits of June 

I peel my mind away from the sticky image of generations 

cycling through, the soil swallowing their blessings 

spoon-feeding them to the roots from which the harvest finds sustenance 

leaves chirp alongside the birds as the train shudders by 

and I’m enamored by the rotting fruits on the ground 

generously leaking their sweetness into dirt, air, each other 

juicy explosions like hearts on sleeves  

the hovering catalpas will remember you for me, sew silhouettes into their ornamental outfits 

of your hand on my cheek and the sensation of silence 

in your presence, how it reassures me 

prepares me to feel worthy of displacing other molecules with my own