Hummingbird (in Cuba, Zoom-zoom)
April 14, 2008
Hummingbirds belong in manicured back yards
hovering near red plastic feeders bought at Walmart
(On Sale, $6.95),
zoom-zooming back and forth for the amusement
of those of us behind plate glass doors
within thermostat-cooled rooms,
our toes nestled in thickly carpeted
representations of the bug-filled grass outside
(just beyond the redwood deck, and Weber gas cooker).
But these hummingbirds-
2 of them, 3, no..4 !
These hummingbirds are watching
for pink lipped blossoms
full of sweet kisses.
These hummingbirds sit in mesquite trees
(for a moment)
planning erotic dances
with the wild sisters
newly arrived from the Yucatan.
These hummingbirds have not been to Walmart;
but they have flown over a thousand miles of
white-capped oceans .
From the jungles of Chiapis
they heard the voices of 10,000 generations
calling them to grass-filled plains
and shale hills to the north
where mockingbirds and vultures,
prairie hens and quail,
crows and robins, cowbirds, sparrows, and cardinals
have gathered since before the moon set or the sun rose
as backdrops against a single, human-lit campfire.
These hummingbirds have never tasted sugar water
tinted with red dye #2 from the local IGA.
But they have tasted the essential and subtle
syrups of primroses
(growing in profusion).
They have licked the sugary insides of
Trumpet creeper stamens and
and honeysuckle pistels,
whose names are without meaning
in the brilliant beckoning
of the flowers’ sun-drenched petals.
Now, they are flying close enough to watch me.
The buzz of their wings is too fast for me to see;
I can only hear their blurry presence,
their so-curious hummed inquiries
and look quickly into their eyes,
as they determine that there is no pink, red, magenta,
or scarlet signs here worth further investigation.
I say “hello,” before they leave, while regretting
(a little, and for several minutes, a lot)
that I will never see the pyramids of Teotihuacan
or bottlenose dolphins in the Gulf of Mexico
with them.
