Late Night Squall

I am a daughter of the prairie and limitless skies. My heart sings whenever I travel west to the Dakotas, open land and unending horizons before me. Sky views from the expanse of windows from where I live, ten floors up, soothe my soul bound by the city. And when I pay attention, the heavens tell endless tales.



                  Late Night Squall


A bruised dawn awakens puffy and purple,
     the corner of the horizon sanguinary

                               as

       Sol struggles to peer through slits
                      in the overcast.              



Marilyn Aschoff Mellor

Dark Days

Sometimes people let you down. But despite all, you simply move on.



Dark Days


The cold seeps into my feet
and double socks don't help.

The cold lingers, leeches into my arms
from kitchen countertops of stone.

The cold hides in corners, sneaks down
the chair back, shrouds my shoulders.

The cold burns when I breathe
a friend's pointed lie.

I find it infinitely harder to reheat
my core than to warm my limbs.



Marilyn Aschoff Mellor

May This Marriage Be Full of Laughter

Winter weather is not what it used to be. Instead of typical icebox readings, we've enjoyed a run of days in the 40s. Instead of shoveling a foot of white stuff a week or so ago, we saw snowfall turn into record amounts of rain.

Need I say, usually the rain changes to snow around here, and not vice versa? Like the crazy weather accompanying a friend's wedding early last spring.



May This Marriage Be Full of Laughter
                                                            Rumi


Charcoal smeared clouds
leak like sagging party tents
before rain rends their seams.

A twenty degree temperature drop
conjures a wave-of-the-wand whiteout.

At the Country Club
young men maneuver trucks equipped
to hustle growing drifts off to the side

before the bride arrives.
Her dark, Persian tresses dusted
with disappearing diamonds of a wintry day.

The ruination
of my sparkly new shoes complete
in the snowbanks of celebration.

By night's end
parked cars like wavy lines of petit fours
chill beneath dollops of bridal cake frosting.



Marilyn Aschoff Mellor

January 1st, Any Year

Happy New Year, Everyone! I feel as if New Year resolutions have almost become passe. And if we do make some, how many of us really follow through when it's so much easier to moan about problems than tackle them? We can change that.



January 1st, Any Year


A day of reckoning, a time
for resolutions, another chance
to challenge troublesome headaches:

put down the smart phone, clean up
your corner of the earth, use less,
lose the extra cookie, take a walk,
be open to all.

Or stick with the usual aspirin,
and don't call me in the morning.



Marilyn Aschoff Mellor

Buying a Xmas Tree at a Big Box Store

Happy Holidays, Everyone!



Buying a Xmas Tree at a Big Box Store


Part indoors, part out, part slippery floor,
part nursery, part bling, part hardware store.
Rows of frosty firs stood stiff with cold,
stacks of Christmas wreaths lay trimmed in gold.
Inflatable Santa rocked in the breeze,
and seasonal workers tried not to freeze.

The air changed when a wide-eyed child appeared
and turned flagging smiles to holiday cheer.
Suddenly, a not-so-perfect tree
revealed possibilities to me.
The boy cast a spell over all we saw,
gifting me a needed sense of awe.

Magic blooms in the strangest of places,
sometimes even in big box spaces.



Marilyn Aschoff Mellor

Solstice in the City

We are in the middle of a December warm streak. Towns to the north of us set records for high temps yesterday, and whatever snow that has fallen here will soon be gone. Winter solstice, waiting at the end of this week, holds no sting this year.



Solstice in the City


Winter's opening night buried in a flurry
of holidays. The stage readied
for a story pitting gloom and Borealis

against a weakened Sol
and his struggling bands of luminance.
The shopworn play dusted-off annually

despite the certainty of mixed reviews
and an empty Presidential Box.
But there exist those of us

who gather this drama into our bones,
know the dialogue of each par-sec of light,
hold tight to Tolstoy, Chekov

and winter's untouched script,
drink Rachmaninov and Liszt.
But rewrites cut short the soliloquy

of spiteful cold, shave lines from arctic ice.
And audiences acquainted with the story
protest the relentless revisions.



Marilyn Aschoff Mellor

Billingsgate - 4:00AM

Andrew and I have a favorite place for gathering with our friends simply because Wednesday oysters on the half-shell are $1.00 apiece. You can find us there late afternoons maybe once a month with Andrew happily devouring two dozen of the mollusks. We both agree that weekly forays would be overkill, and the specialness would wear thin.



Billingsgate - 4:00AM


A roll of the dice riding on the whims
of appetites. Shop owners and chefs
walk the morning market.

A warehouse of fresh fish and seafood
heaped high beneath lights brighter
than the London sun struggling to rise.

Sea bream, cod, or the catch of the day?

Like players betting on stocks
customers invest in oysters and shrimp,
assume risk on snapper and skate.

Fast talking vendors
in wellies and aprons control cash flow.

Profit in the buyer's pocket, too,
if wagered right. If not, today's sole
surfaces in a bouillabaisse tomorrow.

Perhaps, that's why Jenny,
years behind the counter, eats only meat.



Marilyn Aschoff Mellor

On Growing Older

Someone close to me celebrated a 50th birthday this week, but it seems only yesterday that she was born. Where does the time go? The lament of all of us lucky enough to ponder life from a far shore even as we begrudge our own aging.



On Growing Older


A pebble
picked up while strolling
through life. Roll it
across your fingers.

Turn it, touch it.
Feel sandpaper surfaces
and smooth contours,
surprise angles, quirky edges.

Toss it, reject it
only to one day discover it
back inside your shoe.
Stuck.



Marilyn Aschoff Mellor

Late/Harvest

Yes, another a late blog - 'tis the season. Within the last week I read that farm bankruptcies are on the rise in the upper midwest once again. When I drive the long stretches of open farmland across southern Minnesota I have lots of opportunity to speculate about many things. Forlorn looking farmsteads being one of them.



Late/Harvest


Molten clouds filter a metallic sun
above cornstalks stripped by a combine
bumping up against Thanksgiving.
A sprint to bring in crops rain delayed.

The farmhouse sighs beside a grove
of hardwoods, bony fingers pointing.
Overdue notices
weight the kitchen counter.

Outside a tree-swing ebbs
and flows on prairie winds in this rush
to reap payments.  Snow threatens.



Marilyn Aschoff Mellor

Vespers

I miss two things that comprised a big part of my life: our cabin retreat and, yes, my ER work. Simply put, they balanced each other.

Someday, we hope to reestablish a cabin life. And if anyone can create an ER without stress, rotating shifts, and weekends, I'm your person.



Vespers


A ten-year-old girl covered with hives

                    Miles into midnight countryside

Wheezing hard, unable to speak
Blood pressure levels slipping fast

                    Winter solstice weather
                     Crystalline and cold

In the ER a dance of rescue unfolds
Drugs slam home, infuse, relax

                    The wrap of blackness broken
                    Beneath a billion star sky

Breathing slower, a faint smile: good signs

                     Looking up, we feel almost divine.



Marilyn Aschoff Mellor

The Art of Communication

I am off-schedule this week due to travels. Nothing nearly as befuddling as a trip to Scotland last spring but, rather, a journey comfortable as an old sweater to spend time with a son and his family.

The Art of Communication

On a train to Glasgow

a porter pushed a cart containing

food and drink, offering selections

in an accent so thick

I understood but a single "Awrite,

Darlin'" before his words jumbled

my ears.

Before an affable citizen directed me

to a street he called "Sucky Hall"

in that hilly, chilly, windy city.

Before Google Maps failed me,

and the sign labeled Sauchiehall

made sense two rainy blocks

and an inverted umbrella later.

Before I ordered haggis unaware

of its makeup: sheep's "pluck"

- heart, liver, and lungs -

at the waiter's suggestion

for a savory starter,

and served with a trace of a smile.

Before a taxi driver baffled me

with "Hou's it gaun?"

Before I discovered a lingua franca

spoken in those Lowlands:

"A glass of scotch, please."

Before a briefly raised eyebrow

hinted at an order

a bit more than an expected "wee dram."

Marilyn Aschoff Mellor

 

Cantata

This has been a fall of overcast skies, obnoxious ads by political candidates, and ever shortening days. But one gloomy morning an unexpected delight reached my ears.



Cantata


I swear it's a robin I hear singing
outside my November window
though his mates skipped town long ago.

What prompts this outpouring of cheer
in a dull autumn dominated
by damp chills and rain, political ads
and pipe bombs?

Did a buffeting wind skew his course,
and does he sing for courage?
Or is he warning of another storm
on the horizon?

Perhaps it's an unwavering belief
in bluebonnet skies
obscured by this month of misgivings.

No matter the motive
his solo a gift, a lift of the heart
in these divisive times.



Marilyn Aschoff Mellor

Fall Cleaning

The wind woke me during the middle of the night, and continues to howl this morning. The hardwoods have been subjected to a shakedown, but any thoughts of raking will have to wait.



Fall Cleaning


The wind cleaned house last night and stripped the trees
Of defiant leaves snubbing autumn's bite.
The tenor's changed, gone is the gentle breeze.

Buffeting bass and concertina wheeze
Found the pitch and played the rafters right.
The wind cleaned house last night and stripped the trees.

Scrubbed them, rubbed them with rain ready to freeze.
Scoured the streets, polished them bright.
The tenor's changed, gone is the gentle breeze

Of Indian summer along with the melodies
Of robins and warblers singing daylight.
The wind cleaned house last night and stripped the trees.

Forced the move of reluctant chick-a-dees,
Tore down makeshift nests in a fit of spite.
The tenor's changed, gone is the gentle breeze.

Arctic blasts blew in with icicle keys,
Unlocked the box holding winter's birthright.
The wind cleaned house last night and stripped the trees,
The tenor's changed, gone is the gentle breeze.



Marilyn Aschoff Mellor

Necessary Groundwork to Weather Prairie Driven Blizzards

I am one of the younger members of a book club about to celebrate its 20th anniversary. It has been a joy not only listening to multiple takes on a wide range of literature, but also getting to know every one of the ladies.

Unfortunately, the rate of attrition has been steadily increasing, but the group that remains is as lively as ever.



Necessary Groundwork
to Weather Prairie Driven Blizzards


Autumn and a stand of oaks,
summer's grande dames fading.

The visible hint a new henna rinse
in their foliage.

These trees sense the need
to conserve crucial sap, tolerate

weakened branches, and ignore
the growing hollows in their core

like time undermining
the matriarchs of my book club.



Marilyn Aschoff Mellor