Shore

I'm currently in London visiting my daughter and her family. For those of you who routinely follow this blog, you already know she was diagnosed with breast cancer about 18 months ago. I am very glad to say she made it through chemo and surgery and radiation with her spirits intact, is back at work, and is doing well.

Of course, I wrote several poems about her long journey from my own perspective. And, more importantly, she has given me the OK to share some of them. Two of which will surface this Sunday and next.



Shore


The sea shifted the moorings,
stranding me on the wharf,
as cancer, a tidal wave, dragged my daughter.

Left me, a physician, to pace
like parents I once counseled,
on a desolate beach, all
afraid of spying any debris from chemo.

Used to piloting the rescue,
able to pinpoint each trickster reef,
I lean into the wind but the sand shifts
as I watch others fight to save her.



Marilyn Aschoff Mellor  

April Fool

Yes, we journeyed again to the north woods this weekend with the weather taking us on a rollercoaster ride. Only shirt sleeves needed the first day. Perfect for pushing in our dock, soaking up warmth. But overnight the frogs went from a full-throated chorus to "save your energy" quiet. The next morning brought wind and snow on the coattails of plummeting temperatures.

The sudden change reminded me of an April in the Cities a few years back when a crabapple tree set to bloom, failed to do so.



April Fool


Rosy shafts of surprise
skim the soft wood
of an apple tree.

Its arms caught
with a sunrise of snow
blushing deeply.

A heartbreak color
embraced
where blossoms should be.



Marilyn Aschoff Mellor

Grand Ole Creamery

Sunday morning and the skies are clear, finally. A faint haze of green colors tree branches, bushes. And I have already witnessed lawn mowers in action. The delight of no longer needing to wear a jacket becomes reason enough to spend time outside.

I used to live a stone's throw from the world's best ice cream shoppe. Okay, if not the world, at least here in the Twin Cities. I sorely miss being able to walk a mere half block and indulge in a waffle cone overfilled with coffee flavored ice cream augmented with bits of chocolate cookie. Per usual, it's the small operations that repeatedly earn high marks.

Grand Ole Creamery

A pleasure

to stand in a line 

zigzagging out the door  

and down the street

of the mom and pop shop

at 8:00 o'clock on the first

pleasant evening in spring

all for a scoop of homemade

ice cream.

Marilyn Aschoff Mellor

Unaccompanied Minor

On our trip to the cabin in early March we came across a pair of swans pausing in the waters of a wetland, presumably hoping to find an open lake. Even with the warming atmosphere, "ice out" doesn't occur until late April that far north. I fear for those too early, too eager birds but will never know their fate.

Shortly after the ice disappeared at the cabin last year I spied a returning loon, or so I thought. They are the first waterbirds to make themselves at home on the lake come spring, no matter how chilly the water.



Unaccompanied Minor


The vernal equinox come and gone
yet nighttime frosts persist,
winter's dunning agents.
A flash of white like a message
from a signal light
rides the waterline - the loon returned.

But the size is wrong, more of a liner
than a small tug. Black eyes instead of red
and a long, goose-shaped neck once unfurled.

The bird, a singleton, glides off,
unaware of fading ugly-duckling coloring.
Head held as if royalty
bears the favor of spring: a cygnet on the cusp.



Marilyn Aschoff Mellor

Plane Spotting

Yes, I am two days late this week but my excuse is valid. I spent an extended weekend with my son and his family simply enjoying myself. They live in northern Indiana, and there exists a non-stop flight between here and there. It's a quick trip by air, and, more importantly, avoids the hassle of dealing with the traffic in Chicago.

From where I live in the Cities I have a great view of planes landing and/or departing. And I never tire of watching them.



Plane Spotting


Rush hour in the sky commences
from a copse of hardwoods
or so it seems.

How many souls catapult
towards adventure? Who tackles
another day on the job?

Which suitcases pack
power points? Presents? Snorkels?
Suits? Sandals? Ties? Travel guides?
Ski wear? Beach wear? Wing-tips?

From my perch how I wish
my name graced a passenger list
instead of a book club confirmation.



Marilyn Aschoff Mellor