by Donna Spruijt-Metz

Under my skin, now, 
disorder, unruliness, a gift
a country
of hummingbirds. So many
with tremolo 

wings, the hummingbirds— 
part of one thousand 
species of birds here—they sip sweet
sap, beaks bright,
the lush forest shows, greens

Rembrandt never had
and yellows 

oh!

The agouti swifts across 

my path—right across 
my feet while my skin’s 
undoing is now 

the rainforest, the slow denuding.
For now, the birds
            deceive us— 

continue to migrate
back and forth—old patterns
break slow.

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Donna Spruijt-Metz is a poet, translator, and Professor of Psychology and Preventive Medicine at the University of Southern California in Los Angeles. Her first career was as a professional flutist. Her poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in venues such as the American Journal of Poetry, Naugatuck River Review, Juked, Poets Reading the News, and Poetry Northwest. Her chapbook, Slippery Surfaces, is forthcoming from Finishing Line Press in 2019.