Ostrich and Lark started each morning together
at first light,
day in and day out.
And they parted
at nightfall.
Every day they nibbled an ongoing meal:
a few seeds here,
a few seeds there;
for Ostrich, the occasional lizard.
All day the sun glared out of cloudless blue.
Every day, all day,
over the cidada’s drone,
a drizzle of buzzings fell,
and a downpour of birdsong.
Hornbill, Bee-eater, Hoopoe, Diederik,
Mousebird, Whydah, Canary:
from gray-light-come to last-light-gone,
the fancy-dressed suitors of the veld
warbled their rain-shower jazz.
But Ostrich was silent.
Lark sang the first song of the day,
perched tall, slender, the tawny brown
on a termite castle
or a low branch of a camel thorn tree.
But Ostrich was silent.
When Lark sang,
he flickered his wings,
and his white throat feathers trembled.
All day Lark sang, standing still or flitting,
his open wings vermillion-spangled.
But Ostrich was silent.
At dusk Lark sought his hidden nest on the ground.
Ostrich sat down
under an acacia tree
and tucked his head
under one of his black-and-white wings.
Sometimes he dreamed of flying.
Sometimes he dreamed of singing the sky full of stars.
Sometimes he dreamed
of the green season, drinking
caught water, and drinking, and drinking.
At first light, Lark called,
and together they started their day.
One evening,
as the great red sun
sank toward the tree-spiked horizon
and the birds swooped to their nests;
as the plant eaters gathered at full alert
and the meat eaters woke to prowl;
as the gates of night opened to the dark,
Ostrich fluttered his billowy wings.
He stretched his graceful neck,
closed his eyes, and
TWOO-WOO-WOOOT
Ostrich found his voice,
a voice part lion’s roar,
part foghorn,
part old man trumpeting into his handkerchief.
Ostrich was booming!
Which is what ostriches do.
The veld fell silent.
And Ostrich boomed like thunderheads on the horizon.
Ostrich boomed like the rainstorm that ends
the dusty months of thirst.
Ostrich boomed like the promise
of jubilant green, like the promise of birth.
Ostrich boomed Lark right off his perch!
Lark flew up to an
Ostrich-high branch
and looked at his friend
with a big WOW in his eyes.
Ostrich had found his voice at last,
his own beauty,
his big, terrific self.
“Ostrich and Lark” from Ostrich and Lark by Marilyn Nelson. Copyright © 2012 by Marilyn Nelson. Published by Boyds Mills Press. Reprinted with the permission of Boyds Mills Press.
Source: Ostrich and Lark (Boyd’s Mills Press, 2012)
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