La Chuparrosa
The Phoenix sun rises over the
small garden as a buzzing green jewel
flits and hovers, his home the scented air.
The Hispanic gardener stops his tedious work
to watch, as I do, on my own way to the
air— scented and perilous.
He asks the name of the bird in English.
I tell him, and ask the Spanish name.
“Chuparrosa,” he says.
I repeat it over and
over in my mind.
Having exchanged our native
names for this mysterious creature
who carries prayers as well as sweet nectar,
I thread my way through the thin quavering
morning, the knot of anxiety loosening slightly.
Insubstantial, hollow, dreading every next step—
I hold on, white-knuckled, to the nearly
unbearable desire for home.
And I think, what a sweet sad
note for a life to end on:
a small beautiful thing shared in the
garden, the sun rising.
A small, secret thing.
Green hummingbird in the early morning light—
soon I will be hovering in the air, the sun
reflecting off my shining skin.
I know I will not die, though some twisted thing
inside me insists differently.
And I know that anything can carry the
weight of significance, hovering in what seems
to be the shadow of death—
even this little bird
in this brief moment.
Wow, I love this! So poignant. Even at times when we feel most insecure, it is the little things that can anchor us and demonstrate the beauty of fleeting moments.
Thank you. And yes, the little things can make a difference.
"Rose-sucker" - what a wonderful name. And an intriguing write. I think that this prose would do well if it were shared with the Authors, Editors, Publishers and Readers group.
Hadn't thought of that.
This seems very personal, almost like whispering to oneself.
It sort of is. I was suffering from a fear of flying at the time, and had to fly home from Phoenix that morning. I was dreading it, but that little exchange happened, and put my mind elsewhere for a bit.
Could be the prelude to a fantasy adventure novel. Good write
Thank you.
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