When my husband caught the trapped hummingbird
and freed it from the screened-in porch,
his big hands, a woven bird’s nest,
a few fingers opened into an escape hatch,
I held my breath as one does before the delicate—
that spot of bird, singular in its journey,
wings like small lead windows.
It seemed strange to see a big man
who could easily crush the body of such a small thing
release to air the hummingbird, who once in flight,
turned as if to say, I’ll remember this.
Your Daily Poem, on-line, 2014
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