I don’t think my birth mother ever knew my name.
She only lived four years after my parents gave me my name.
One day, bored maybe, did she give me a lucky penny name?
Did she ever make friends with a hummingbird?
The hummingbird out back seems to know my name.
All her greetings are wheely wings and paisley sky.
Maybe the hummingbird out back is my birth mother.
Once there was a trinity of hearts beneath her heart.
Now, she hovers near me, watches through the window,
thirsty for the nectar of my name.
