Jacob L. Cross
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Hummingbird
The water’s cut with diamond sugar cane.
Pink breasted hummingbirds hover and flee.
I sway on porch swings, facing every day.
They move like love, blue candles, bent flames;
Real cupids dip their beaks. Arrows have wings.
The water’s cut with diamond sugar cane.
One lands and I can’t keep my words, I pray.
To share a flower altar, I will kneel.
I sway on porch swings, facing every day.
Her paint brush wondered. Half-mast hand was raised.
She wants to bathe in rainbow droplets clean.
The water’s cut with diamond sugar cane.
“Keep out the feeder for when they migrate.”
Oh Mother, nature’s grace was in you, not me.
I sway on porch swings, facing every day.
An empty glass to greet their flight, they came.
Their hunger flew away to wait for spring,
where water’s cut with diamond sugar cane
and I sway on porch swings, facing every day.
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Jacob L. Cross lives in the southwest suburbs of Chicago. He studied creative writing and publishing at the University of Illinois Springfield. He is Editor-in-Chief of The Popcorn Farm Literary Magazine. He has also served as a fiction and poetry editor for The Alchemist Review. He enjoys hiking everywhere from the Smoky Mountains to the Rockies with his wife, playing music with friends, and spoiling his dogs.
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