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December 24, 2014

A Wayward Strand. {Poem}

Earth and Sun

A hummingbird sings in the darkest of nights,

as I perch in my window seat,

all the lights off,
heart fluttering,
remembering,
cool breeze sweet air through open window
like summer in the Sierra’s at sunset,

no it’s like sunrise,

just before we awake,
and see the dewdrops on our boots
we forgot outside our tent
next to that one silver stake bent,
curved like those few wayward strands of wavy silvers
showing up in my straight mahogany hair
as a subtle clue,
a foreshadow of my future self:
the one who will know how to pause,
not send off unpolished ideas in impulsive grand gestures.

I almost can’t wait
for all those silvery waves to cover my head,
a crown of transformation,
but I will
because my little ego
is not ready to be so wise,
I’ve too many things to learn,
as I pull my straight mahogany behind my ear,
so I may hear
the sound of a hummingbird’s uplifting zing
on the darkest night of the year.

 

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Author: Jes Wright

Editor: Emily Bartran

Photo: NASA

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