A tornado of a hummingbird

By Sarah Brown (’26)

The tornado of a Hummingbird  

My heart beats fast 

As though it is the wings on a hummingbird 

Beating out of my chest through my eyes 

I panic 

Will this be my last breath? 

Have I worked it too hard, is this how it ends? 

The panic subsides as I get used to the rib-caged hummingbird 

Learning that it is open and looking for love 

Not from others but from me 

I cannot slow it down, but I can feed it.  

Treat it as though my life depends on 

Keeping this ribcaged hummingbird at bay. 

So I cannot think today is my final day  

The day I do slip away 

I wonder what people will 

The hummingbird has stopped trying to escape  

Despite my best efforts 

I am deeply pulled into an eternal slumber  

One where my heart does not beat like a drummer  

The rib-caged hummingbird has gotten too tired  

So I retire into a softened sleep  

And with one last tear I weep 

Can this be true? 

Has your hummingbird failed you too?  

I slip into adulthood 

From a lost Dorothy.  

Something we are doomed or gifted with 

It depends on who you ask.  

I sit  

a silent 23-year-old girl  

Riddled with doubt and worries that sprout like weeds in the spring  

I keep my head down  

Follow the yellow brick road, find the Emerald City  

Only to see the pity they look upon me with  

For, you see, it took me a lot longer to find the land of green 

I faced mountains, rivers, and even little streams  

My thoughts raced faster than I could walk 

That is what it felt like before I learned to talk 

Only now my thoughts are aggressive, ignorant, and self-deprecating  

No magic shoes to send me home, to escape the sob story  

I see the beauty in the trees, but never in me  

I sit 

A silent girl 

Waiting for the Emerald City  

To set me free