I love jacarandas. Below is a poem I wrote about them.
Is hard. I once tried composing a poem about purple trees—you know, the ones that bloom in late April or early May; I think they are called jacarandas.
The poem was going to be about how they look dead—dry, grey, empty of leaves, even in March when other trees are green and flowers are opening up, as they do.
I even had a conversation with an old man in my neighborhood who walks his short dog and knows everyone’s business. He told me that the jacaranda tree
in front of my condo was dead, and that the city would have to come cut it down. Good thing I didn’t believe him because yesterday there were ten purple flowers
on the ground. They were on the tree too which wasn’t a bit dead. I tried to write this in a poem, but there are already so many poems about life and death and trees.