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my husband calls me crazy…
because i’ve become obsessed with the mockingbird who sings all day. i’m uninterested in his car alarms, lawnmowers, and sounds that must have come from neighborhoods far away. i prefer the hummingbird who built a nest in between the thorns of the blackberry bush but filled it with softness from cotton balls, old mattresses, and pieces of my hair. she only stayed 21 days: enough time to lay two eggs, lose one, and overwork — feeding a life that resembled a squishy worm until its delicate body hardened enough to fly. now i sit outside for hours, writing and waiting to glimpse the little hummer with the red neck. the one who didn’t take after its mother, though she fought off heavy rain, cold wind, and the repetitiveness of the annoying mockingbird who sings all day.
