Grand Canyon Tour

I recently spent a week in Arizona. As I flew back to Minnesota, the pilot made mention of the Grand Canyon off to our left. His comments brought back memories of another flight taken years ago over that very site. I never did fare well in small planes.



Grand Canyon Tour


A small, fixed-wing plane
bounced like a striped ball
from updraft to cold current
over plunges and pinnacles.
The pilot smiled, settled in,
but a few of us cringed.

Rivers and ridges and bands
of rust layered out below
but its grandeur could not
compete with the focus given
a ragged white sack clutched
by me seated in the back.



Marilyn Aschoff Mellor

Lessons Learned from the Flood

In the news, videos from the terrible flooding in Nebraska this spring. Unfortunately, I can commiserate with those caught in the mess. The land around our cabin up north remains under water nine months on. A total loss but, fortunately, not our primary residence.



Lessons Learned from the Flood


All manner of footwear floats. I expected flip-flops to greet me on slow moving currents in the inundated cabin. But fleece scuffs and work boots? Like pop-ups in a Fun House, they jangled my bare legs, nudged my nerves. And so did the bobbing ant-traps, forlorn as empty life rafts. Wreckage everywhere: non-closing, swollen doors, a soggy futon turned mutant sponge, and defunct appliances moored in water. That's when I heard the lapsed flood insurance policy laughing from a bureau drawer. And forget FEMA; we failed even their basic disaster parameters. Outside, the lake swirled over the lawn, eliminating the option to take a break on the grass and absorb some sun. A survey of the damage from the kayak or canoe might have distracted us, but they washed away along with the dock. And then there was the propane tank. More dangerous than a jellyfish on the loose, it floated off, trailing tendrils of vapor until the gas guys hauled it away. Did I mention minnows darting in the drive? Perhaps I can set a rod from the kitchen window, and snag a perch in passing.



Marilyn Aschoff Mellor

Navajo Blanket - Circa 1860

I spent the past week in Phoenix with an afternoon in Old Town Scottsdale. Native American pottery and blankets abound, but few are old school. Those artifacts can be found in the Heard Musuem, promoting the cultures and arts of American Indians in the Southwest.



Navajo Blanket - Circa 1860


I am the soft wool
of the shorn sheep
spun once for yarn,
twice for strength.

Steamed berries, bark
transformed me
into warrior red
and starless black,
colors of a chief's blanket.

A dark-eyed woman
in an Arizona canyon
with hands tough
from grinding corn
and soft from mothering,
patterned my soul
into a storyteller.

Long after she tied the last
of my four corner knots
my voice remains witness.

I warmed her children
in chill desert nights,
protected them
from pitting winds
but could not save them
from the wrath
of government soldiers.

I was rolled, tied
behind the saddle
of a rifleman,
roamed the high deserts,
was lost to a gambler
from Denver
who had no use for me.
Nor did his sweetheart.

Years of neglect
in a dusty back room
fixed my memories:
smoky grey streaks
from campfires,
ground-in dust
from arid mesas,
a rusty brown stain
from the Indian wars.



Marilyn Aschoff Mellor

Supplication

In the forest surrounding our cabin lives a special pine. But unless the floods of last summer recede the normal life span of this tree is threatened once again.



Supplication


Sacred tree, holy pine
I am speaking to you.

My friend rescued you from the storm spirit
which uprooted your neighbor

slammed it to earth,
crowding your young trunk

bending your spine like a crone's.
He learned to use a saw as an old man

to save you from the intruder's dead weight.
Each summer he cut further into its girth

worked to angle through the log
and split the encroaching fir,

his blade slowed by gnarled hands.
Three years of puny dreams

before you sprang free of the wind god's curse.
These days I find you in a forest

regal as a young lord,
see the breadth of your branches

hiding the c-shape in your back.
Remember how he helped you as a sapling.

Sacred tree, holy pine
I am speaking to you.

Impart, now, strength to his granddaughter
whose spine, they say, is curved.



Marilyn Aschoff Mellor

The Breezy Confidence of the Untested

I subscribe to "Lake Superior Magazine." Occasionally, the editor slips in pictures of young couples on their wedding day in the deep winter of the far north. One photo in particular stays with me. The joy of this pair shines like a beacon through the swirling snowfall.



The Breezy Confidence of the Untested


They stand in the beginning
of a blizzard,
this wedding couple.
The wind carrying her veil,
lifting his lapel, their cheeks ruddy
as the crimson lodge behind them.
Laughter tweaks their smiles
like eager kids told to pose
but ready for sledding and snowballs
and games like King of the Mountain.
Mulled wine waiting within.



Marilyn Aschoff Mellor