Samuel Louis Spencer
Ngumbi
In Malawi there are countless insects,
too many to remember the classification
of each, yet there are some
that all will know. We have the Nairobi eye,
a beautiful black and red beetle
with a pincer for a tail. Do not smush
it on your skin! It is terrible, acidic,
and will leave a nasty burn.
We have the locust, which comes
to clean the landscape when it dries.
And we have the ngumbi,
the mana that falls upward.
A few times a year, when the sky
cannot contain the rain, when the rain
is finished pummelling the earth, when the last
remaining drops are slowly descending,
the ngumbi emerge.
You will see a few,
you will see a thousand,
you will see ten thousand.
You will see them take from the ground
into the dripping sky; it is amazing
how insects can fly. They are greater
than any flock on the horizon,
more dense than dust in the dry season.
You will gawk at their graceful fluttering.
You will run beneath them, hands cupped,
praying that some might plunge into your palms.
Every bird you have seen once before
will sweep the winds for ngumbi. They
will feed their hatchlings and also
be full, but the ngumbi will still be more.
Lizards under bricks and geckos on the wall
will catch many, but the ngumbi will still be more.
Hedgehogs will bumble out from under bushes
and munch on them until they are sleepy, but
the ngumbi will still be more.
Children, parents, and grandparents
will capture their fill, salting them
and eating them, but the ngumbi will still be more.
Even before the ground is dry, the earth
will be littered with brittle, translucent ngumbi wings.
All things will be full
and all things will know;
that the ngumbi still is more.
too many to remember the classification
of each, yet there are some
that all will know. We have the Nairobi eye,
a beautiful black and red beetle
with a pincer for a tail. Do not smush
it on your skin! It is terrible, acidic,
and will leave a nasty burn.
We have the locust, which comes
to clean the landscape when it dries.
And we have the ngumbi,
the mana that falls upward.
A few times a year, when the sky
cannot contain the rain, when the rain
is finished pummelling the earth, when the last
remaining drops are slowly descending,
the ngumbi emerge.
You will see a few,
you will see a thousand,
you will see ten thousand.
You will see them take from the ground
into the dripping sky; it is amazing
how insects can fly. They are greater
than any flock on the horizon,
more dense than dust in the dry season.
You will gawk at their graceful fluttering.
You will run beneath them, hands cupped,
praying that some might plunge into your palms.
Every bird you have seen once before
will sweep the winds for ngumbi. They
will feed their hatchlings and also
be full, but the ngumbi will still be more.
Lizards under bricks and geckos on the wall
will catch many, but the ngumbi will still be more.
Hedgehogs will bumble out from under bushes
and munch on them until they are sleepy, but
the ngumbi will still be more.
Children, parents, and grandparents
will capture their fill, salting them
and eating them, but the ngumbi will still be more.
Even before the ground is dry, the earth
will be littered with brittle, translucent ngumbi wings.
All things will be full
and all things will know;
that the ngumbi still is more.
Samuel Spencer is an emerging poet and author currently attending Liberty University and working towards an MFA in creative writing. Samuel is a devotee of grand gestures, dramatic entrances, and last-ditch efforts. When he is not studying, coaching tennis, or mulling over writing projects, Samuel enjoys getting coffee with friends and planning future trips.