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The Yellow Head of the Hummingbird


Yellow hummingbird head,
Lopped off by feline fangs,
And left as a gift
On the welcome mat.
Short sharp black beak
Arches downward hopelessly
Like the collective heartbreak
Of a million lost souls.
Misbegotten and forgotten.
Lacerated and left for dead.
This continuous marathon dance.
This never-ending lunge.
This eternal stroll in the park.
This incessant spasm in the dark.
I close my eyes and reach for something ahead of me. 
I don't want to see it.
Because I am afraid,
Afraid of what it might see.
Afraid of what it might say.
Past my eyes
Past my soul
Past the lost days and nights
Of an entire lifetime.
Look. 
I hold in my hand an empty bottle.
It once held the liquid refreshment of my youth.
Now I see the scum marks
The black residue of a thousand forgotten thoughts.
I throw the empty bottle down
Down into the darkening maelstrom
Of rippling voices, screaming and crying,
Like gulls in the afternoon
When the sun compels the vulnerable to the surface,
And the feeding frenzy begins.
The yellow head of the hummingbird
Is swept up with the shattered glass.
Now, there’s no more emptiness.

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