Stay. I couldn't know that you had heard.
One ruby throat has left. To know is - soft?
Or genuine, perhaps. One hummingbird
Will be some sev'ral hundred miles aloft
And take the summer south, a secret place,
Where monarchs pilgrim to the oyamel.
Here, crickets come inside to sing for grace,
Becoming stories ancient writers tell.
Here, I will offer tea, and stare, and hide,
With chitchat-woven gossamer and glitter.
And we can hear the words on winds outside,
Alliterating: Bracing. Brisk. And Bitter.
Much later, we will grope for words to say,
And cuddle up, and tell the winter: Stay.
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Alysa Salzberg
Melissa Miles McCarter
Scarlett Sumac
jlsathre
Matt Paust
Jowita Bydlowska
Salon.com
Comments
Today someone told me a great story about a hummingbird (about having saved one from drowning in a pool and how the bird thanked him).
The flora in my landscape was planted to attract hummingbirds.
My mother loved hummingbirds.
And now, this poem.
A good day. And now, a good night.
I had to look up oyamel.
"crickets come inside to sing for grace"
Lovely how you've woven the chit-chat, heard and hear, tell and stories and words through this. And stay. And here.
It just gets better and better. I love it.