HummingbirdA Poem by Marie AnzaloneI was trying
to be productive today, forgetting
you- letting you just be uncertain; while lining
up small accomplishments, polishing
writing tablets and keyboards, documenting
efforts and insteps. But then a
hummingbird visited, and my world was ordained
to stop and bear witness to her innocence.
She wrote me a sermon
about balance, on a
nasturtium leaf; she sat on a
wire and reminded
me to breathe. My love for
your smallest gestures glimmered in
her throat patch. She stabbed
spiders with a lance
made of keratin and collected
strands of its gossamer for the
walls of her home. She told me
our time here is
as fragile
as the spiderweb, she told me
not to forget you but also to let go
and see what you do. She rose with
great dignity into the
air, bowed, and left, almost but not
quite falling as the winds
of the day gusted to a
crescendo. I saw my own
day of questions
responded to without answer in wingblur that
was felt rather than seen. Her little heart
only beat as fast as mine does while I wait for
your letter; her faith that
air currents might sustain
her renewed my own that one day
soon I too will
be lifted and held. © 2018 Marie AnzaloneAuthor's Note
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Added on August 23, 2018Last Updated on August 23, 2018 AuthorMarie AnzaloneXecaracoj, Quetzaltenango, GuatemalaAboutBilingual (English and Spanish) poet, essayist, novelist, grant writer, editor, and technical writer working in Central America. "A poet's work is to name the unnameable, to point at frauds, to ta.. more..Writing
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