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Hummingbird Skull. {poetry}

{source}

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How beautiful

is the skull of a hummingbird?

She asked you,

her tongue

sliding past her lips,

her sharp small tooth,

Licking them for the smallest

splittest second.

That’s how beautiful

She couldn’t believe

It was.

The skull of a hummingbird.

And you,

Smirked at her.

She’s one of those,

You thought.

She must have

a not so secret fondness

she reserves

for subway rats too.

She’s one of those

who unabashedly smile

when they scuffle

their potentially diseased bodies

across the subway tracks.

‘Cos the high-heel-clicking women

appropriately squirm,

But she’s found her identity

in making an open show

of feeling a kindred spirit

to fat brown-tailed rats.

She must be one of those,

You thought.

Too sane

to be quite a drifter,

But still she sups

on grownup faerie-tales

and she pretends

they’re cultured.

She must be one of those,

He thought

of her.

And poor him.

It kept him away

from the small

incredibly strong

beating pulse

of the statement.

The truth of the sentiment.

How beautiful

is a hummingbird skull?

So beautiful,

They’re making coveted pieces

out of them.

They’re dipping them

in gold

and silver,

Maybe copper,

And stringing them

around warrior women’s necks.

And he didn’t know

How much further

her mind slunk down that slope:

How? Who? Why?

Was there some creatured human

With Velcro-pad fingers

Who climbed up trees in the Amazon

in Vermont

in Mozambique

in delectable, imaginary

country created in mouth?

Was there some human

with eyes

that pixelated

dangerous, beautiful,

charcoal ember,

Whose heart beat

like on methamphetamine,

Who climbed the trees,

Clasped his hands, Swish,

And caught them?

These faeries.

Who did that?

Could do that?

And then: How?

What would a person have to do,

How magic would they have

to become

To sluice

the skull of a hummingbird

from out of its vibrating body

To separate that bone

From iridescent

gummy skin?

What exactly did that sound like?

Were there pops

of electrical currents

when it happened?

Was the air

Suddenly scented tangerine?

*****

A man got on the subway

Just then.

Homeless drifter.

“I’m gonna be with someone

Just like her,”

he said.

He told everybody.

It crushed

And broke

And tumbled her heart

As gently

as sadly,

As powder white hummingbird skull

being crushed to dust

between fingers.

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Brittany Connors

Brittany Connors

Brittany Connors is an actress, writer, and general life enthusiast based out of NYC. She is a lover of story, text, and all of the various expressions we find to make sense of ourselves and the world around us. She believes all expression is a celebration of this breathtaking existence.
Brittany Connors