Perhaps you, too, have heard it,
despite the cacophony,
a song that rises in you—
a tune you’ve never learned
that somehow owns you
the way white owns winter,
the way breath owns
our lives. Perhaps you, too,
have marveled as the tune
spills forward, guiding you,
keeping you company
so that even when alone,
you know for certain
you are not alone.
Archive for November, 2023
Inner Song
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged companion, music, mystery, song on November 30, 2023| 4 Comments »
Meditation
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged dark, light, meditation, milky way, shining on November 30, 2023| 9 Comments »
On clear moonless nights
in the darkest places,
light from the milky way
casts shadows here on earth.
I think of how light itself
is the obstacle for seeing
other breathtaking kinds of light,
much as I, too,
am my own obstacle,
my longing to shine
sometimes interfering
with that humble, soul-stirring light
I need to close my eyes to see.
Here, Too
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged peace on November 28, 2023| 9 Comments »
Everywhere a starting place.
Every room. Every street.
Every line in the sand.
Every hand extended.
Every door that’s locked.
Every loosening dream. Every knot.
Every choice. Every crash.
Every triumph. Every touch.
Every word. Every window.
Every loss. We are always,
always starting, re-starting.
With this breath. This unease.
This flow. This wild pouring
of self into the moment.
This resistance. This lack.
This uncertainty. This flaming.
This stuck in the rain.
This complaining.
This clap on the back.
This shake of the head.
This French kiss. This fuck this.
This stumble. This leap.
Every(single)where
the true starting place
for peace.
Interlude
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged ars poetica, kissing, writing on November 28, 2023| 4 Comments »
Sometimes, waiting for the poem to come,
I lean in, eyes closed, lips parted,
edging wonder, unsure what comes next—
my heart a fluttering and tremblesome thing.
It’s like being seventeen again, wondering
if the boy beside me and I will kiss.
I love this flirty interlude when the poem
barely touches my lips with a brush
so light I wonder if I’m making it up—
and the pleasure center of the brain lights up
and soon I am breathless, dancing atop the labyrinth,
ready to give myself wholly to the kiss,
no longer able to follow the scripts I have known.
And the poem hovers above my lips
whispering, What truths are hiding inside you,
then plunders me until my eyes are open.
*
Well, friends, I can’t promise that when you sit down to write poems it will be like the poem above–but it just might be. Here are a host of fun online events coming up when you, too, might write and wonder what truths are hiding inside you?
“Turning Toward Life with a Pen in Your Hand”: Exploring Poetry of Presence II
TUESDAYS Nov. 28-Dec. 19
“What does it mean to be alive?” Consider this an invitation to join your voice to the big conversation about that question! In this four-week writing series, we’ll converse with poems from Poetry of Presence II: More Mindfulness Poems, an anthology of poems that “crack open the tough stuff and spill out the light.” Every class will consist of reading and unpacking poems, two sessions of original writing, optional sharing, and lots of talk about process. This is a chance to “practice mindfulness smack dab in the middle of our busy lives” through writing—partaking in wonder, embracing paradox, trusting life, and meeting our own lives as living poems. To register or for more information visit here.
Happy Birthday Rilke
Dec. 4
Join me for a birthday salon for Rainer Maria Rilke including of music, story and poetry. I’ll be with renowned Rilke translator Mark Burrows and cultural historian Kayleen Asbo as we trace how the music of Bach re-awakened his imagination after the trauma of World War I, resulting in the astonishing outpouring of poetry that became the Sonnets to Orpheus and Duino Elegies. A joyful exploration of the poems and poet that saved my life and the music that saved him. To register or for more information, visit here.
Sitting in the Midst of It All: A writing & self-care retreat
Dec. 7 & 8
Join Courage & Renewal facilitator Marcia Eames-Sheavly and Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer for a mini-writing retreat—a day and a half of self-care, wonder, quietude, gentleness, acceptance and connection. The wonderful Marcia will be guiding us in Parker Palmer’s Circle of Trust. For more information, visit here.
Stubborn Praise with James Crews
Dec. 18
Join Rosemerry & poetry friend and partner James Crews for an evening of conversing about poetry, change and transformation. This program was originally scheduled for October but had to be rescheduled. If you were previously signed up, you’re in! You should have received your registration info already. Even if you were not previously signed up, you can sign up now! For more information and to register, visit here.
One Vacation
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged home, mountain, vacation on November 26, 2023| 4 Comments »
joy in the city—
we return home
to sleep like mountains
Waiting for the Planes
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged airplane, boredom, travel, waiting on November 26, 2023| 13 Comments »
Hello urge to be productive.
Aren’t you so sincere?
I see how you think
because there is nothing to do
but wait for the next two hours,
wait for the next five hours,
wait for the next seven hours,
you think I should do something
useful and industrious,
something practical and time efficient.
Something generative.
As if to sit and do nothing
is not a gift.
As if waiting is nothing
but an invitation to work.
As if the goal in life is to
check things off an eternal list.
The longer I sit,
the harder it is to hear you,
well-intentioned as you are.
See how I sprawl on the floor now?
And now, how I rock on my heels
and hum and swing my hips?
How I close my eyes
knowing I won’t fall asleep.
Oh the kingdom of boredom.
How it takes everything I have
to meet it and let it rule me,
to treat it like the treasure it is—
the chance to not be clever,
to not shine, to wander between ambition
and disappointment, between mettle
and quietude, to find a chair
I might sit in for a while
and meet the urge to be productive.
And not open my book.
Not pick up my knitting.
Not study French.
Not converse with a stranger. Not make the call.
Not even smile as I type not a word.
Two Thousand Three Hundred Thirty-two Miles from Home
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged Art, friendship, life, museum, surprise on November 24, 2023| 12 Comments »
for Brad & James
There in the lobby of the Musée des Beaux Arts,
I walked out of an exhibit to find my daughter
sitting on a long bright red couch
beside the sweet husband of my beloved friend.
And though I enjoyed each curated installation we saw,
nothing compared to this art of surprise, of love.
It was like stepping into the museum of my own life,
reseeing how every minute might be something of great value,
unexpected and wonderful, a moment I’d like to frame
just so I can remember how beautiful it can be,
how much larger than life it can be, this life.
The Joy of Repetition
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged Beethoven, gratefulness, mozart, music, repetition, variation on November 24, 2023| 7 Comments »
at the Palais Montcalm
Just because I’ve been grateful before
doesn’t make today’s gratefulness any less true—
I think of Beethoven who fell in love
with a melody by Mozart,
then wrote seven variations for cello and piano—
one minor, one song-like,
three written in different times,
but each variation at heart the same.
I think of the joy on the young cellist’s face tonight
as he drew on the bow and plucked on the strings
as if this one performance were everything.
And so it is with gratefulness—
each time we express it, it matters the most.
Whether it’s a new expression
or a variation on a gratefulness theme
that we will again and again name.
Like gratefulness for family.
Gratefulness for friends.
Gratefulness for morning, evening.
For each scrap of peace.
For each chance to be grateful again.
If you are interested in listening:
* Seven Variations in E flat major for cello and piano is based on the aria Bei Männern, welche Liebe fühlen (“In men, who feel love”) from Mozart’s opera The Magic Flute.
It’s Like This
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged gratefulness, science, thank you, thanks, thanksgiving on November 23, 2023| 4 Comments »
“The odds of you being alive are basically zero.”
—Dina Spector reporting the work of Dr. Ali Binazir, Business Insider, June 11, 2012
It’s like this. The sun itself
is constantly moving through space,
and yet it never leaves us.
Add this to the list of marvels—
like how a glass of water
was once a cloud,
like how love can grow in us
despite sorrow, fear.
Given such gifts,
one must wonder how it is
our arms aren’t constantly raised
in spontaneous praise for life.
I know and you know
why sometimes our hands stay down.
But now, standing still together,
even as we’re spinning
and racing through space,
even if it’s only a whisper,
when faced with the truth
that great forces hold
our lives in place,
it feels right to say
thank you, thank you,
eyes lifting, heart trembling,
the improbable earth
so solid beneath our feet.
With a Glass of Valpolicella
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged bittersweet, dining, music, old quebec city, paradox on November 22, 2023| 5 Comments »
at Parmesan, in Vieux-Québec
We hum along as the gentle old man
plays accordion beside our table,
his fingers nimble, his eyes closed,
and we smile as he sings in French
of autumn leaves and how life
separates those who love each other.
This is how the heart learns to break
and to soften at the same time.
With a sway, he keeps coaxing
the sad song from the keys
while we hold hands and
lean into the enchantment,
wishing it wouldn’t end.
Ten Minutes of Embracing Grief & Joy
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged video on November 21, 2023| 2 Comments »
What a Thanksgiving gift! I feel so crazy lucky that Jennifer Kent of University of Nevada–Reno created this beautiful 10-minute video as part of their UNR-Lake Tahoe speaker series. Shot at the Lake Tahoe campus in September 2023, it features me reading three poems–“For When People Ask,” “Simple Tools” and “Untamed”–and also conversing about how a daily poetry practice helped me in a time of grief, what I didn’t know about grief before my son died, spaciousness and silliness, and how my most recent collection All the Honey came to be.
Jennifer wrote me, “It felt important to edit this for you before the holidays began … because I think your words will offer comfort to those that struggle to feel joy during the holiday months for whatever reason.” Friends, if that is you who is struggling, I am wishing you deep peace as you meet a difficult time. May you be carried by love.
One Traveling
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged connection, daughter, travel on November 20, 2023| 6 Comments »
while sitting in 24 E
when my girl rests her head on my shoulder
already I’ve arrived
Learning to Honor
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged birds, cranes, evolution, sandhill cranes, time, wonder on November 20, 2023| 10 Comments »
For ten million years, the sandhill cranes
have trumpeted in their rich, low pitch
and flown over grasslands
as they did today
while we wove our car beneath their V—
oh, their long slender necks,
the slant architecture of their wings—
such elegant things
developing since the Eocene.
How beautifully small I felt then,
a speck in big time,
so lucky to spend even an hour on this planet
at the edge of a marsh where perchance
the cranes are migrating south again
and the heart, astonished, unbidden,
leaps up in wonder and falls in love with life,
a gift of our own brief evolution.
Transmogrification
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged grief, klimt, transformation, transmogrification on November 19, 2023| 12 Comments »
while looking at Klimt’s “Tree of Life,” I consider
After grief carved me, dismembered me,
scattered my parts, I couldn’t imagine
how I’d ever be put back together.
This is how it is life grew me again,
less like a woman, more like a tree
rooted in compassion and forget me nots,
nourished by all that had happened,
rising out of old stories, old wounds,
old parts, old love, new love.
The person I was is gone, yet here,
fueling the flourishing, the unfurling,
fashioning my limbs into a resting place
for dark wings, for golden light.
Dear Gustav Klimt,
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged ekphrasis, klimt, painting, portrait, sense of self on November 18, 2023| 12 Comments »
Please, don’t paint me today.
Maybe sketch me in pencil,
arms dangling soft by my sides.
Perhaps another day
I will gaze at the world
straight on, chin up,
eyes full of challenge
lips curled in risk.
Perhaps another day
I’ll stand with defiance,
long hair tossed back,
hands on my hips.
But today, dear man,
keep the eraser close.
I’m more paper than gesture.
more blank than bold stroke.
Today I have no mask,
no message, no need
to be seen. In fact,
Gustav, close your eyes.
Let me ask you about
when you met Typhon
and the Gorgons
and how things changed
from snakes to angel choirs
from skulls to golden kisses.
Here, good man.
Show me your face.
Please, hand me the pencil.
Poetry Video: Talking with My Daughter about Grief
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged dark praise, poetry video on November 17, 2023| 2 Comments »
How do we speak of grief with our children? With our beloveds? Sometimes even the softest words feel too crass. Sometimes, the night allows us to be together in wordless times in deeply intimate ways. This poem, “Talking with My Daughter About Grief,” was written after my son died in 2021. It’s part of DARK PRAISE, a spoken-word album on endarkenment–exploring the ways the dark nourishes us.
The video features the amazing Steve Law on guitar, with art by Marisa S. White (Happy Birthday, Marisa!) and it’s made by Tony Jeannette. You can download the album for free or listen to DARK PRAISE on Spotify, Apple Music, or anywhere you stream music. You can also buy the album for $15 to support our efforts on bandcamp.
Talking With My Daughter About Grief
We lie in the dark
and speak about anything
but what I ache to speak about.
Some part of me longs
to find the words like search lights
that will help us find
what we don’t yet know
we are looking for.
Or a black light
that might help us see
what is valuable right here,
but invisible to our ordinary eyes.
I try to infuse my words
with candlelight, but somehow
even this feels too brash,
too aggressive, and so
we lie in the dark
and I let the moon
do all the talking.
Oh, waning crescent,
you know when to shine,
when to simply be held
by the dark.
Tonight I Remember
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged grief, letting go, loss, memory, shoes on November 16, 2023| 18 Comments »
how he resisted learning
to tie his own shoes,
how I cheered
when he learned
to pinch the laces
between his fingers,
knotting and looping
and pulling them tight,
making a bow
that would stay.
How I encouraged
the very thing
that allowed him
to walk away.
Oh, sweet woman
I was then,
beginning to learn
letting go.
Now that he’s gone,
I’m a student
of being loosened,
untied, undone,
still practicing
how to let him go.
One Small Step
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged enormity, infinity, resilience, scale on November 15, 2023| 8 Comments »
for LEI
intimidated
I enter infinity
through the smallest door
One with Notes of Cherry
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged glasses, mom, wine on November 14, 2023| 8 Comments »
untouched for a month
empty wineglasses dream
of toasting her return
*
Dear Friends,
This very small poem celebrates my mom’s birthday! A quick update–she has been in skilled nursing for a couple weeks now, and it looks as if she can go home in another week or so. What a long, curve-ball-ish, difficult path. I so appreciate all your thoughts and prayers for her and for me as she navigated the
ICU and hospital …
Also, this poem is a very small nod to some fun news … I have several times submitted to the Judd’s Hill Poetry contest, which caught my eye back in 2016 because the prize is a double magnum of cab! And the contest is for poems written about wine. This year, I won! With a poem about mom’s wine glasses … You can read about the amazing vineyard (I am so moved by their values and how they interact with their community) and the wine poetry contest here, and read the winners from the last many years … I don’t think my poem is up yet, but here it is, below, with a smile for mom. Happy Birthday, Mom!!! I have never been so glad you are having a birthday!!
While Unpacking Giant Wine Goblets
At first, I wish my mother
would consider giving them away—
her new apartment is shy on cupboard space.
How many wine glasses do you need?
I ask, trying to sound reasonable.
She responds by saying,
But they’re for red wine,
as if that explains it—
as if of course, she needs eight
beautiful globe-shaped glasses
for serving pinot noir and merlot.
And they’re so hard to find
in this exact shape, she adds,
clearly pleased with these glasses
she has transferred
from home to home to home.
And so, I think, of course,
she needs these glasses
round as grapefruits, clear
as happiness. I imagine her
sipping a fruity red with easy-drinking
tannins and a super-soft finish.
I imagine the smile on her face
as she sips from the larger goblet
designed so the wine can contact
more air and thus open up
so its cherry and raspberry notes
shine through. I imagine the smile
on her face—and I slide
the glasses onto the shelf
and move on to the china,
the measuring cups, the spoons.
How Did I Ever Believe It Would Be Otherwise?
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged drought, natural process, pain, rain on November 13, 2023| 15 Comments »
When it’s dry here,
the clay in the soil shrinks,
its particles pulling
more tightly together
until deep cracks form in the earth,
a force so powerful
it can damage foundations.
This makes me wonder
about how we, too,
storied to have come from clay,
can crack in times of drought.
I have felt it, drought of love,
drought of touch, drought of death,
drought of compassion and justice.
And I have known, too, the miracle
of how when the drought is over,
the clay of my soul expands again,
absorbing what it most needs.
Is it strange how much comfort
I take in knowing it’s natural,
that cracking is what we do,
it’s part of the cycle.
Of course, the cracking.
And of course, the healing.
I am awed by its force
and how little it takes,
even a small bit of rain,
for deep healing to begin.