It's National Poetry Month, and readers of my blog know that I suck at poetry. That said, I will continue to produce sucky poems because I enjoy it. :) For the first day of this month, I offer some words about our local Japanese sakura superstars in all their fleeting glory.
The cherry blossoms were at peak bloom this past weekend here in DC. In my neighborhood, north of the city, the trees are on a delayed timer, only now kicking into full gear. On my way home from work, I sometimes take side streets to see trees off the beaten path. I came across one block recently that was loaded with my favorite variety of cherry tree: weeping cherry. SO cool. I grew up in a house with an enormous weeping willow out back, and seeing tiny cherry blossoms dot long graceful whips of branches is like seeing my childhood back yard dressed up for prom.
I was thinking of that earlier this week when I was stuck in some motorcade/police action/tourist traffic jam on 16th Street. I was outside the swanky St. Regis Hotel, singing along with the Hamilton cast album (don't get me started, it's a wonderful addiction, a musical sickness) when the wind started to whip up. The hotel (and the AFL-CIO building on the next block) has weeping cherries in full bloom lined up along the crescent drive outside the lobby. In the wind, the arched tree branches danced and they started to remind me of girls in wide skirts at Seven Oaks in "Gone with the Wind," waiting for their beaus to escort them out on the floor for a twirl. It made me wish I was skilled in animation. I could have filled a ballroom with sweet-petaled dancers.
The St. Regis Springtime Ball
The weeping cherry sisters
Sway and twirl
Outside the grand St. Regis
Good southern girls
In gowns of pink
And softest, purest white
Our hoop skirt debutantes
Bloom and swish at the
Wind Gust Cotillion.
Now watch them curtsy
See them blush
At every tourist walking by.
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