April Is Poetry Month. Poem A Day Challenge. No. 28
Louder than the Hummingbirds
Jill paid a surprise visit last night
arriving with Jay, a bottle of wine
a pile of poems and a cooling story
about a guy from Alaska who couldn’t
meet her downtown after all.
We sat in the twilight of early June
our stories and gasps drowning out
the clicking of the cicadas, our whir
louder than the hummingbirds
looking for nectar and a place to nest.
My girls entertained Jay with Nintendo
laughter, dances, and bowls of ice cream
they stirred in cookies and Sugar Babies.
Jill told me Jay sees angels each night
short men in turtlenecks who are threat-less
he didn’t share this with my girls.
Bridget had a tantrum that morning
anger pouring from each limb hotter than June
Riana sunbathed for the first time
tanning herself toward adolescent notions
about beauty and boys.
Neither was any of this spoken
by our children, who fingered the gray joysticks
giggling between sticky teeth
and shouting at the screen.
Jill and I talked about everything
on the deck, moms and poets
certain we would never rush off
to Alaska to rendezvous
with even the sweetest of men
or meet friends downtown at midnight.
Midnight. Would we?
We defined “contentment” relishing
the freedom of a stolen afternoon
alone with “the one” and the definition
didn’t include anything about boredom
sadness, being finished or desperate.
Just happy enough to know
exactly when to fly and who
to bring, where to go
and what we should stir
into ice cream.
Photo from Pixabay
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