A lone pelican lands on the slough
beside the barn–
a gawkish bird gliding
onto the murky water,
a flap and beating of wings–
then, a hump of white feathers suspended,
the long orange bill tucked
against his chest.
Pelicans usually stay in large groups
like a carnival of white and orange,
a noisy bunch on parade
content with no less than a feast.
Their feats can marvel, indeed:
gulping and swallowing fish whole,
squawking and swooping to fill pouches.
Young mouths drop open
in hungry wonder.
Many minutes pass
while the moment remains
on the still water
where algae spread
and reeds grow thickly
concealing a thousand watching eyes.
The motionless pelican floats–
posing, as if waiting
to be painted.
Mary Belardi Erickson was born in New Jersey and today lives in the countryside of Minnesota. Her work appears in various online magazines and in print, including the Aurorean, Waterways: Poetry in the Mainstream, and Avocet: Journal of Nature Poems. Her poems appear in Silver Boomerâ€™s From the Porch Swingâ€”memories of our grandparents, and Sephryrus Pressâ€™s No Fresh Cut Flowers: The Afterlife Anthology. Â Her e-chapbook, Back-stepping Between Two Bridges, can be read at www.victorianvioletpress.com.Â To read more of Mary’s poetry at WIZ click here and here.
â€œLate Spring Ringmasterâ€ was previously published in Avocet: Journal of Nature Poems.