Bewilderment

by Mildred Kiconco Barya

I’m sitting with a laptop at the dining table in my living room.
The backyard door is open, ruffled leaves sway in the breeze.
A hummingbird flies in, pecks my cheek with zest, and buzzes out.
I am astonished and relieved it’s not smacked my eye instead.  

An echo of its sound settles in my ears. How loud it bumbles
for a bird that weighs less than a nickel! Quivers like a strong
locomotive—the force of a hummer. Yes, the name makes sense.
A world of iridescent colors floods my vision—bright reds,
yellows, and deep greens. Royal purple stripes fit for a king. 

Disneyland’s magic cannot compare in visuals and acoustics
with the splendid pomp and vanishing of the hummingbird.
Everything around me is changed. Even when I look
at the refrigerator, stove, and pans, all shimmer.

Sword-billed hummingbird, what you love opens to your
sharp beak—esperanza, hibiscus, morning glory, nasturtium,
and my heart—penetrated, wells with unspeakable joy.
A new burst of energy almost knocks me off the chair.
I want to name you sugar bird, but it’s taken.

Ruler of the South, the Aztec god of war chose your form.
Speak to me of your propensity for work and net benefits,
of intimacy and how to sustain a long-distance relationship—
a 500-mile nonstop flight across the water—fueled by
passion, reaching for nectar and awake to my own mysteries.

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Mildred Kiconco Barya is a writer from Uganda now living in North Carolina. Her publications include three poetry books, as well as prose, hybrids, and poems published in Shenandoah, Joyland, The Cincinnati Review, Tin House, Prairie Schooner, and elsewhere. Her fourth full-length poetry collection, The Animals of My Earth School, is forthcoming from Terrapin Books, 2023. She blogs at www.mildredbarya.com.