Dragonfly Season

Andrew, my significant Singaporean other, is not your typical north woods cabin owner. But he is well known to the locals, and despite a decade plus of ribbing, he revels in time spent there.



Dragonfly Season


At the lake I sleep with you, Andrew Hong,
an enigma in the far northern forests.

Your canoe comes with a motor,
skims across wave-washed smirks

that fade far from the shore
lapping at your dock, the only one

without lures or lines. Next door the shudder
of bearskin peeled from its ham-strung carcass

courses through your own taut muscles.
Chopsticks don't mix well with cheese dip

nor beer with your reluctance to drink
alcohol, and football remains forever foreign.

Shrugged shoulders and cock-eyed grins
cannot fathom why we're here

but the eagle nests above us
and the heron fishes from our pier.



Marilyn Aschoff Mellor