• Vol. 09
  • Chapter 05

There are no hummingbirds where I live

They don’t migrate this far.
If they would, we’d open our gardens,
our windows, plant daffodils on every sill.
Our pigeons, crows, and magpies
would form a powerline chorus,
watch the hummingbirds concerting
their merry whirr from flower to flower
with rapid wings all summer long.
They’d sip nectar from honeysuckle,
the rosemary bush on the sidewalk.
They’d flirt and flutter with weebills,
thornbills and fairy wren, be the talk
of our town ‘till it’s time to fly home—
backwards, taking our summer with them.