Ode To The Only Narra Tree I Know

Outside our little house there's a big Narra tree that's been standing tall ever since I was born. It became my sign that home was near.

Ode to the only Narra Tree I know

The Narra tree outside our house blossomed with the color of summer.
Tiny dried petals crowded the corners of the gutter.
Those slow falls somehow reminds me of my grandmother -
In an afternoon of '15, picking up green Papaya's in our frontyard.
While my hands played with dirty street chards.
Tossing Narra flowers like confetti.
Watching it explode slowly like snow in
American movies.
How I love the gentleness of the wind  as
my tiny suns hang in the air for a while.
And it's mesmerizing how something benign
and beautiful exists at the same time over this chaotic town.
A magical scene where every little girl could drown.
Together with the unspoken tales buried in the ground -
near the spot of the Narra tree outside our house.
I still remember my grandpa's violet fences
Protecting the Moringa trees and banana herbs.
Truly, a garden is a man-made Earth.
And infront all of it is the where I danced
as a child making light of our quiet neighborhood
as it rains Narra flowers all over my imaginary world.

Author's Note

Ignore the grammatical errors.