The hummingbird of panic

There’s a hummingbird in your chest,
in that aching cage of bone.
You hold it there too tightly
to hush its maddened drone.

And when you wake each morning,
again, you trap it still.
It’s harder, harder every day
to clench the growing thrill

of panic, at seeing the world
all clean-pressed and aglow.
You tremble as you wonder
if someone might just know

what dreams you had last night
as you starved for blessed rest
that never came, as hummingbird screams
tore through your prison chest.

If only you could crush its wings
to feathers and debris.
Or better yet, have mercy
and set the mad thing free.

But our poor, dear hummingbird,
must stay forever in its cage.
So you wash the nightmares from your skin
and claw your way onstage.