Dedication of the Catalpa’s Third Transplanting
by Matthew Robb Brown

It will open its wings mid-June, white after those 
of chestnut and apple and thorn have done. 

It will lighten the days as springtime fades. Digging 
deep, I settled its ragged roots with buckets of water, 

shored its leaning stem straight. It has come to replace
the Norway maple that split in a crash and pulled 

down wires, in a dripping, sodden mess. Outside our 
window it will fill the gap where leaves no longer lap 

and plash in the rain, where no stiff rise of wind 
can sound a strain. 

Its bent branches may, when grown, take twisted 
positions, draw an artist's eye. 

It will sing clear outside our window,
drawing sparrows, cardinal pair, flicker 

and jay. It will roll its wheels of leaves, 
beat its hearts in threes along the stems,

supple after the third transplanting 
due to man’s upheaval and construction.

It's almost autumn now, but new sprouts cluster
on the stem, eager, it appears, to get on with life.

It will string inedible bean pods like deli sausages;
It will sing and sway us to rest. 
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About barkingsycamores 183 Articles
Barking Sycamores is a literary journal entirely edited and operated by queer neurodivergent people of color. We publish poetry, artwork, short fiction (beginning with Issue 3), creative nonfiction (beginning with Issue 8), and hybrid genre work (beginning with Issue 9) by emerging and established neurodivergent writers as well as essays on neurodiversity and literature and book reviews (beginning with Issue 10).

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