I tell the doctor, it’s okay.
I know there is a hummingbird
where my heart should be.
He looks horrified, but
I’ve found a way
to keep living, just as the bird
has found a way
to survive inside my chest.
She stretches out her wings,
flaps a few frantic beats
as if to evidence this.
After a pause, the doctor
interjects, actually
hummingbirds are migratory.
I reply clearly nothing has nested
in you for a long time. He falls
silent. Sends me back
to the waiting room
where I listen to the gentle echo
of chirps in my wrists,
silently apologise to the bird
for my lack of sky.
Hummingbird
Beck Reynolds is a poet based in Oxford, UK. Her work has recently appeared in Poetry Worth Hearing, Remington Review, Mouthful of Salt, The Poetry Lighthouse and others. She enjoys leaving half drunk cups of coffee around the house and confidently misidentifying birds.