Hummingbirds: A Poem About Pain


By Connie Dyste Tucker

I have one of my own,

a hummingbird, bright of feather,

light of wing. She fits into my day,

sipping my sugar, hardly hovering, always



Bird dogs, I have one of those, too.

Keen of sight, smart of nose.

He lays at my feet

dreaming of birds, not hummingbirds,

birds of substance – quail, grouse.

Birds he can present to us, his tiny, sad gifts.


And a spooky cat, a small black blanket

who sits in a chair, scared of the world.

For good reason.

So when I see him stroll out the kitchen door,

past the dogs,

boldly, unafraid, to a lovely spot in the garden,

I think, there goes a cat who can pull it off

when he needs to, you know, the confidence



I can take my pain and put it in my pocket,

walk out the door and say to the scary world,

I am light of feather, swift of wing.

I am not this sad heavy body,

I am dreaming of birds, I can fly away from this,

I can sip sugar. I can eat my words.


Editor’s note: Connie Dyste Tucker is a family friend who passed away last year after a long struggle with lung cancer and chronic pain.

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