I’m grateful to editor Nolcha Fox for publishing “Ode to a white Pelican”, a memoir poem, in Chewers by Masticadores.
My husband and I love driving to the local wetlands to count the deer. For a period of time, we discovered a white pelican left behind possibly due to an injury. He took up residence in just one area, perching on a spot in the first pool. We never saw him fly, only fishing for food. This poem tells his story. (I just chose the masculine pronoun; I’m not certain of the bird’s gender.)
Ode to a White Pelican
left behind for weeks in the wetlands. It’s rare
to discover a pelican alone. His safe harbor,
the same area in Pool 1 behind a grove.
His stately posture. Huge, stretchy throat pouch.
He can still feed on carp. But we’ve never seen
him fly. For weeks, we check up on him like doctors
on daily rounds, taking turns with binoculars.
Worried that we’ve lost him this time.
Relieved to find him roosting on the grass.
On more than one occasion, an egret companion.
Once, another pelican perches in proximity until
it flutters its great wings, lifting off to join the flock
swirling into a descent into Pool 2, the light from
the setting sun shimmering off their wings.
Our pelican’s squadron returning to the wetlands?
In past seasons, Pool 1 was their fishing ground.
Despite the flock’s gregarious gatherings in Pool 2,
our pelican friend remains solitary. On each excursion,
we crane our necks to locate him.
Until one day—
just an egret.
© Barbara Harris Leonhard
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Extraordinary Sunshine Weaver 
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