Hummingbird

A hummingbird's heart beats 1263 times per minute
its wings flutter 80 times per second
if a panic attack is a distinctly human feeling
then a hummingbird is nature's equivalent.

I used to fill the feeder
in my grandmother's backyard
kneeling at the window,
chin resting softly
on the windowsill
waiting for the hummingbirds
to prod the feeder
searching for sugar water.

In this quiet observation
I could hear my breath,
inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale.
I know that breathing
can be switched
to a voluntary action:
all you have to do is think about it
I know how still
water looks in a glass at 3am
and how cold air
brings you back into your body
like somehow you've forgotten it
somehow you're standing
in the waiting room of a UFO
somehow solipsism sounds a little too convincing.

One time I caught sight of a hummingbird
it landed on the feeder
its wings stopped beating and for once
I noticed the quiet beauty
the still dark eyes
of bundled anxiety
so quiet
you could see its tiny chest move
with every breath.

My inhales and exhales are like sails
steering the lost ship
knuckles white steadying myself
in the wake of the storm
the waves crash against
the insides of my skull
and I am sea sick.

The method of quietness
is something you have to learn:
what feels so much out of your control
is precisely the opposite
and when you feel
homesick in your own bed
you have to learn how to find a home
in your body.

I always liked how the feeder looked
like flowers
like a little flower home
like you could curl up in the plastic
let the sun warm your skin
wash your face with sugar water
and forget what time it is.

I haven't seen a hummingbird in years
but one cold night I swore
I could hear the rapid fluttering
of a hummingbird's wings
they were so tiny
yet so loud
and something inside me
went completely still.