you will grow up and be different,
she is telling me like telling
means a thing. I sit on my bed

saying the word aqueduct. there was
a universe we kept, it’s yellow now, it does
not sing when I tell it to. I built the house

the hummingbird lived in. she remembers
when I painted it perfect, when it started
breathing back. I tell her don’t worry,

I will put everything back where I
found it. don’t worry I will grow up and be
different. a hummingbird comes out of my

throat. it is holding the yellow universe.
it is saying aqueduct
like it can’t stop. I will grow up

and keep saying aqueduct like I
can’t stop either. I will be the hummingbird
and not just the house that it lives in.

Nora Claire Miller is a rising senior at Hampshire College concentrating in poetry and archival studies. Nora’s work has appeared in H.O.W. Journal and The Reader.

This entry was posted in Poetry and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

One Response to hummingbird

  1. Mitch says:

    This is beautiful. Thank you for sharing. 🙂

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