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Pelican
by
Myrna Merron

Three days I have stalked
the name of the bird
with the pouched beak
a resident of oceans, bays, lakes.
I have seen those water avians in photos, too,
covered with oil
they are stroked clean by patient hands.

Three days I have sought
the name of that bird,
racing through the alphabet to latch
onto a familiar letter.

I recall my mother, less fluent
as time whitened her hair.
Impatiently I supplied her words
when “thing” became an irritating
surrogate for the real thing.

Today, as I swayed to the rhythm of the rowing machine,
the creature emerged from its nest--
“Pelican” I exclaimed silently,
a wonderful word I won’t concede to growing older.

--Submitted by mwmerron on 2011-03-20.

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