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