Never will I be a mother
but this morning
when the hummingbird
arrived at my feeder
I learned how one
might find herself
wholly in love
with the miracle
of a small body,
its bill and tongue
darting in and out
the plastic red flowers and fake
yellow stamens,
how earnestly it sips
a simple nectar
of tap water and sugar,
how one tiny bundle can hold itself
upright in thin air
zip forward and backward
in joyful figure-eights
then plunge from the sky
to hover again safely. I learn
it’s a boy!
watching the reflection of
his red gorget,
the metallic patch turning
black to red
by way of light’s angle,
and his two glass wings
vibrating so quickly
they appear to multiply
as the seed of Abraham.
Oh how I wanted
to kiss his belly, his forehead,
to bless that ring of fire!
I held my breath
so as not to startle
and my heartbeat kept pace
with his wingsong.
Oh, how the fledgling
arose out of nowhere,
like the stinging in my
swollen breast.
