This is a typical spring, and of all months March would not be my first choice to showcase Minneapolis. On a another note, I'll be flying off to France and Spain next week which means you'll not hear from me 'til May.
A Moody Time
It's March. In Minnesota. One day
sandals and straw hats, the next
boots and earmuffs.
Always,
bare-branched limbs and sun worship.
Once, I discouraged my European lover
from visiting during this wild-child month.
In springtime as I boast about the state,
I'm like a proud parent showing-off
a teenager with unkempt hair and acne.
No matter how hard I brag, he or she
forever betrays gawkiness.
Odd,
my paramour never reached out to me
again. He vanished as snow does on a late
Easter Sunday.
He must have had other prospects.
A self-congratulatory coronation?
A chance at the tables in Monte Carlo?
Hmmm . . . a younger lover?
I breathed "bon chance" and "damn you"
together.
Marilyn Aschoff Mellor
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