I write a poem about you every year
because it’s impossible to overlook you
the way you flounce onto the scene
with so much unrestrained splendor
as though you have no idea
it was just winter.
You are so defiantly upbeat,
so sudden,
so pink.
You are the extrovert of trees.
We drive to school on a street
flanked by your pompoms
waiting for the one windy day
when you will shake loose
your confetti petals all over our car
ending your season,
the way you arrived,
in a burst
of glory.