My Hummingbirds

by Kevin Chopson

I will write one thousand poems about hummingbirds.

I will take them to Japan and study origami.

Each poem will become a cut and folded replica
of a childhood memory.

Flashing, fitful, fanciful moments that I am quite unsure of.

I will take them to France and study art.

Each poem will be painted in colors fitting of a starry night.

I will take them to New York.

They will rest deep in the pockets of my father’s camel hair coat

As I enter the Empire State Building in January.

I will ride two elevators and walk more steps than I remembered.

I will pass undetected through security.

I will pose with strangers for a picture I will not buy.

I will step out onto the observation deck and into the cold night air.

I will jump onto the ledge and grab the fencing with one hand.

I will reach into my pocket with the other.

The lining of my father’s black camel hair coat is red satin.

People on the deck will notice this stark contrast

As I toss my hummingbirds over the fence,

Switching hands when the first pocket empties.

Strangers will catch my hummingbirds. Unfolding them

At the breastplate, they will discover empty space.