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.
Pain News Network invites other readers to share their stories (and poems) with us.
Send them to: editor@PainNewsNetwork.org.