The Last Hummingbird of Summer
Remembering Summer's Magic (Focuses on the nostalgia associated with the hummingbird.)
reveals itself in retrospect. Unlike the first,
whose March arrival bade you gasp, hands clasped,
like a child actor instructed to show joy when the last
depart for points south; there’s no telling.
and no telling. Well, so what? You know their cycle.
In August, they swarm the feeder, all swaggering.
greedy tussle for sugar water. Suddenly,
September. Chill tickles your ankles. You reach
for long sleeves, and you fret. They’ve left? Not yet.
Ears cocked for the symphony’s shrinking strings.
Then comes a day without a ruby flash. the next day,
they’re back. The next day, there’s one. Then none.
Or maybe one? From porches, pumpkins grin.
Your last had left and left you uninformed.
Kind of? Sort of? Can I say it? —like menstrual blood,
again, between your legs. Your last, perhaps,
or next-to-last, your no-longer-very-monthly
monthly. So unlike your first crimson, at twelve,
its “Yes-You-Are-There-God” annunciation.
Well, so what? You know the cycle. Your body’s
eggy miracle, unneeded now for years.
And you hate to waste. Why fill and dump?
and fill again the undrunk sugar water?
Enough. Let’s progress to whatever season’s next.
But still, a farewell ritual wouldn’t be amiss.
The last hummingbird of the summer, zinging
from the feeder—to others, a smooth departure—
to you alone, unmistakably, dipping its wing.
About the Creator
Bishnu Kumar
“I am now ready to create captivating fantasy stories.”ex- poet,fiction
By the way, you can comment on what kind of story you want to read. I will try to fulfill your needs.
Thanks.
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