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.