Our imagination built
a treehouse in the back
of the apartment building
against the parking stalls,
playing on Kelsman Drive
in Culver City, high
in the outer reaches
of the Jacarandá. In the
summer the branches
smelled edible sweet
with pale pink purple
blossoms that hung
like bunches of grapes.
We would sit on the hill
or stand on the roof of parking
stalls, swing from the
branches and jump to the
ground, rolling down the
hill. I see it all even now,
drawn in memory. But
at seven, I didn’t want
to forget so with my
birthday present, I
took a photograph,
just in case.

– For Ivanna


2 thoughts on “Jacarandá

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