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
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.
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
A silent girl
Waiting for the Emerald City
To set me free