Poem: Catalpa

When I was five years old
Dad told me, “It’s a catalpa.
See its seed-pod cigars.”

There used to be
a great big tree
a great majesty.

In front of it
the sidewalk sloped
so that when it rained
there was always a puddle.

I’d stand there
watching the tree’s leaves
drip drops into my ocean
anticipating then marveling
at how the drops grew and grew.