Elegy
by Mason Leopold
Mid-February, and everything is dead until a hummingbird flies by.
Hummingbird, harbinger of April; she flies the banner of acacia flowers and the
buzz of life, delicate like my grandmother’s collarbones-- but bright like her
blouses.
May she rest in peace. Everything is dead after the hummingbird. Everything is
dusky and ashy from woodstoves.