Mickey’s Bradford pear is blooming
concrete deep in Central Harlem.
In a place where graffiti is weedy.
Where precious is knowing biota
from asphalt, knowing the chestnuts
ripe for roasting or redbud too phobic to flower.
Trees are sentinels with seasonal wardrobe.
Today Mickey’s sentry stands brave and blooming.
A feast for the eyes of its beholder.
There may be no dandelions, so savory in salads.
See where brave got them. There, a dauntless ginkgo
kinks sidewalks; crabgrass, its fringe partner.
What every plant knows, stealth never sleeps,
and up the Hudson, dogwood winter has wolfed
a billion blossoms - we’ll feel that loss in June.
Today, the subterranean chitters a pulse from Central Harlem.
Just off Madison Ave, white confetti lavishes the April breeze.
Bloom you Bradford Pear, bloom!