And So It Begins

This past week marked the anniversary of my father's death. Somehow it's easier and more satisfying to keep track of his birthdays, but both dates rekindle memories of one of my personal heroes.

Dad was a gentleman in every sense of the word, a man of integrity, and always very patient even through the difficult year at the end of his life. I miss him a lot.



And So It Begins


My father fell from his bed one night
or rather his legs buckled when he stood
intent on reaching the loo. Jarred awake,
my mother tried in vain to lift
his once solid frame now collapsed
like pick-up-sticks in a hotel room.
Unnerved, she called the front desk,
his left side limp as a floppy sail.
A CT scan leaked a secret they shared:
a series of minor strokes, traceable tremors,
preceding the earthquake.

My father fell from his bed one night
or rather his legs buckled when he stood
to find his way to the nearby commode.
In the urgency of a bladder taut
as a water balloon he forgot he couldn't walk.
The clamor caught the notice of the nurse
who neglected to secure his bed rails.
X-rays spoke of a broken hip, months of rehab.

My father fell from his bed one night
or rather his legs buckled when he stood,
attempting a routine bathroom run at home,
walker at the ready. Startled from sleep,
still powerless to shift her spouse's body
crumpled once more on the floor, my mother
reached for the phone, her own hand shaking.



Marilyn Aschoff Mellor

Lunacy

The flags continue to fly at half-staff this morning, reminding us of the lives lost in the latest school shooting. Reminding us, too, that we all have a stake in stopping this craziness.

I wrote the poem that follows shortly after another mass murder. This one in the theater in Aurora, Colorado, as the loop of non-action rolled again.  



Lunacy


The magazine
shows photos of Aurora's dark night.

The Dark Knight
wrestles with mayhem in the theater.

The theater
bleeds bodies from live ammo.

The live ammo
fills the clips of magazines.

And the Joker smirks, "It's our Right."



Marilyn Aschoff Mellor

Birthday Gifts

Some people have a knack for finding just the right gift for whatever occasion. Most of us aren't as lucky, and someone close to me struggles. But at least his heart is in the right place.



Birthday Gifts from a Man
Who Doesn't Buy Presents


From a box sans paper or ribbons
a potter's handcrafted mug
circled with an obi-like band,
                  almost
     Japanese in aesthetic.

An upgrade over last year's gnome
gracing my utility room counter,
collecting pennies and pop-tops
                  in his linty wheelbarrow.

Though my grandson would disagree,
considers the pointy-hatted statue
                 "awesome."
The man and the boy riding the same
guileless wavelength, frequently.



Marilyn Aschoff Mellor

Blue Moon

Earlier this week a rare lunar event transpired. A super moon, a blue moon, and a lunar eclipse, casting a reddish hue, coincided with each other. Predawn the morning of January 31st it hung in our western sky in all of its glory. But I missed it, and can't even blame cloud cover.

I do remember the last blue moon in July of 2015, and wondered then if it would truly be bluish in color. Most everyone, myself included, forgot about the forest fires raging in the west, and what happens to the atmosphere as a result.



Blue Moon


Three years in the waiting.

The gloaming
now inky enough to pen night's coming,
underscore moonrise.

Which shade will she wear -
winter-sky pastel or lily-pond wash?

Off to the East
behind trailing scarves of clouds
her unhurried ascent:

a stunning blood-orange.



Marilyn Aschoff Mellor