Catalpa Tree In The District (Final Version) Poem by Mary Angela Douglas
Catalpa Tree In The District (Final Version)
once I loved a catalpa tree
because its leaves stirred heart shaped in the wind
and it was outside the window my only window
living in a yellow house in just one room, an amiable renter, and
sometimes on a screened in porch
where the sun turned my rose spined books a faint pink
and my newsprint map taped up of where the heart spent refugees went
that was when I loved even more than the whiff of lilac on the wind,
the story of emigres who learned to live in books;
the legends of swans.
I saved my coins and went to the ballet
and dreamed then, a different choreography for my life
and like St. Francis I believed that it was right
all things should shine my sister, my brother.
sometimes I still believe that.
it has been a long time now
since the workmen came and sawed the tree down to the ground
where its orphaned birds fluttered around the stump; mystified
why should it die
because it soared and spread its heart helplessly over the wires;
there was no warning
but what would they say
we have come to kill the catalpa tree today>
the city sent us.
mary angela douglas 8 october 2021
That's how I felt when two pin oaks near my rental room in L.A. were cut down... grand native trees that take centuries to grow. The city allowed eucalyptus trees that guzzle water, but it sent men to get rid of the 'fire hazard, ' which was patently false.. They were gentle survivors.
Autobiographical threads are important to anchor a poetic oeuvre. Without biography, we would lose traction. Poetry without biography is like a long phone call, during which we are swept up in discourse and don't even see what's in front of our eyes.
Memories are like bunches of grapes. Your memory of the catalpa broadens until we see the setting; we learn something about what your feelings were invested in while you lived in the yellow house..
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/25/2024 8:04:04 AM # 1.0.0.1119
An elegy for catalpa tree! let me quote from this beautiful poem, 'since the workmen came and sawed the tree down to the ground where its orphaned birds fluttered around the stump; mystified why should it die because it soared and spread its heart helplessly over the wires; '