Stepping on the porch,
I found a small gift,
a faded hummingbird
resting on its side.
Transferring it
to the palm of my hand,
thinking it dead,
I thought of my mother
dead last week on the floor.
I made a wager with myself,
if the coursing blood in my hand
could revive the bird,
my mother too would return.
The engine of its throbbing heart
pulsing a thousand beats per second,
warmed my hand,
a declaration of life,
as the quick and dead vanished
beyond my limited sight.