Not easy to hear the soft chant of my breath
with the rumble of river nearby.
Even the low water hymn of late autumn
is loud enough to cover the small,
familiar song of inhale and exhale.
Further out is the sharp thwack of hammer
head meeting nail. Another nail. Another.
An elated whoop from the man with the hammer.
And further out, the growl of semi trucks
migrating east on the highway. If I close
my eyes, do I really hear better? Can I hear
into the distant pinion forest, the silence that gathers
there in spiraling trunks? Can I hear
past that into the vaster silence of mesa?
To the vacant sound of sky?
More than the sounds themselves,
something about the reaching stills me,
brings me present until I am more ear
than mind. Not a single thought brays as I follow
soundwaves to the shores of presence.
Such simple practice, attentiveness,
and yet how often I wander away
on paths of should and want. But now,
attuned, I hear it, even with the river,
this small luff of breath, a living metronome
beating here, here, here.
Archive for October, 2025
One When I Feel Shoreless
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged acceptance, conversation, friendship on October 28, 2025| Leave a Comment »
your voice on the phone
each word a stepping stone
toward acceptance
Reunion
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged college, friendship, reunion, time on October 28, 2025| 4 Comments »
And though it has begun to rain
and the Bernedoodle jumps and squirms
between us and though it has been
thirty three years since last I saw her,
I want to linger in the yard when I hug Susie,
and for a moment I am again eighteen
and we are snowshoeing up a fourteen-thousand-
foot peak. The winter sun is brilliant; we
are laughing and I’m exhausted and so alive,
and I am standing in a suburb as golden
leaves whirl and Susie is in velveteen pants,
her hair streaked gray, and she is not at all the same
girl I remember and also exactly the same,
meeting me with a smile, offering to carry
what is mine, speaking of gardens and knitting
and tea. And we’re on the summit of Mt. Elbert
and I wrap my arms around those girls we were.
I thank them for loving each other then,
how that love opens a door to this very moment
to create an intimacy that needed no tending,
as mullein seeds sometimes wait decades
before they bloom. I release Susie and bend
to nuzzle her puppy, a marvel of zeal and scruff.
Is it rain on my face, or tears? I take that young
girl I was by the hand. She walks inside with us.
One Encouraged by the Leaves
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged kite, letting go, self, story on October 26, 2025| Leave a Comment »
flying the story of myself
like a kite in the wind—
can I let go of the string
Carving the Pumpkins
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged gratefulness, halloween, pumpkin, surrender on October 26, 2025| 4 Comments »
We plunge our bare hands into our pumpkins
and pull out seeds and strings and thick orange
goo; we scrape at the walls with grapefruit
spoons and all the while as we scoop at the earth-
scented mess, I never once think how I was dreading
this, this annual ritual I’m supposed to enjoy, but don’t.
But tonight it’s as if the part of me in charge of delight
has taken over and I remember I want nothing more
than to be exactly here on the floor with my girl
and my husband, sawing a giant smile into my pumpkin,
fueled by a gratefulness so honest it shines like a votive
through whatever inside me is hollow.
Ever Changing
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged change, peace, transformation on October 24, 2025| 9 Comments »
In my urgency to clutch it,
I made peace a thing
to be protected,
like a jewel, like a token,
instead of a force
that transforms.
What if I let peace sweep
through me as branches
are cleared by wind?
What if I let peace flood me,
scouring what I thought
I knew? What if, no matter
how hard I tried to
capture it, peace slipped
through my grasp like mist,
like rain, like time?
If I trusted an ever present
peace as much as I trust
ever present chaos,
who would I be then?
What the Mirror Said
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged mirror on October 23, 2025| 14 Comments »
after lucille clifton
After all these years
of looking in the mirror,
you still don’t see
what’s in you. There
have been times
I wanted to shatter
into slivers so you
won’t be tempted
to trust me, but I
am not the problem.
Listen, sweetheart:
Trust yourself. Trust
no mirror could
ever know the truth
of you. There are whole
mountain ranges
of wonder inside you,
unfathomable oceans
no mirror could ever
show. Go wander
and swim in your
own wilderness
until you don’t
need me anymore.
Dear Finn,
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged American Flag, opposition, politics, protest on October 22, 2025| 14 Comments »
On the way home from the protest,
It occurred to me you likely would have
stood quietly on the corner of Oak and Colorado
with a sign that said, I stand with the President.
It makes me grateful we were able
to talk about such things when you were here,
both of us loving our country in such different ways.
I’m sure somehow you know they flew
the American flag over the capitol building
in DC for you, a gift from someone we never met.
They sent us that flag. It flew over the school
on the day you didn’t graduate.
I sat in the school parking lot that day and watched
the breeze lift its corners, giving life to the flag,
somehow giving life to you, too.
Every time I see the American flag, I say hello to you,
especially the flag at the bottom of our drive.
I know you don’t hear me when I greet you,
but somehow I know you do. Like the way I don’t
hear the sun, its wavelengths measured
in hundreds of miles. Just because I can’t
comprehend the sound doesn’t mean the sound
isn’t there. So I send my small yawp into the air,
and trust our mutual love for our country still brings
us together somehow. Me in person, you in the wind,
the wind that catches this hello from my lips
and carries it beyond what is here. What is here?
The chance to remember how deeply we can love
those who are so different from us. The chance
to remember how unity can look like disagreement.
The chance to remember what is here is sometimes,
like peace, what doesn’t seem to be here.
Eyesight
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged bees, flowers, garden, grief, mother, sight, vision on October 21, 2025| 9 Comments »
I’ve never seen the world the bee sees,
a world of iridescence in which petals
change color depending on the angle,
a world in which a field of sunflowers appear
not as a smear of yellow but as individual
blooms. I’ve never seen the bullseye
pattern in the primrose or the pansy,
these human eyes unable to perceive
designs in UV light. Today I look out
at the empty garden where just last week
there were marigolds and calendula,
and I see the absence of flowers, but also,
I see mounds of golds, yellows, oranges, and
I see the boy who used to sit on the edge
of the wooden beds and I see the young
version of me, not yet gray, weeding
the rows, while the boy tells me stories
about school and the things he longs
for beyond what he has. They’re there,
I know, the flowers, the woman,
the boy, though somehow they’re so far
beyond the spectrum not even
the bees can see them.
Many Upcoming Online Programs
Posted in Uncategorized on October 20, 2025| Leave a Comment »
Risk and Play: Flirting with the Unknown
October 23
5-7 p.m. mountain time
hosted by Kripalu
Zoom, recorded
$29
As part of Kripalu’s Fourth Annual Fall Writing Program, Rosemerry joins other esteemed writers Julia Cameron, Asif Ullah, Eric Maisel, and many more. The overall theme: Imagine New Worlds: Hope, Transformation and Exploration. REGISTER HERE
Grace in Transition: Poetry as a bridge between the everyday & the sacred
Thursdays, October 30-Nov. 13
!!!!(Note: For those attending in the US: sessions will be 1-3 MT on 10/30 and 12- 2 pm MT on 11/6 and 11/13. This is due to our clock change happening a week after Europe. Time will be 7-9 p.m. in Ireland)
hosted by The Sanctuary in Ireland
Zoom, recorded
€75 (around $87)
Reading and writing poems can be a transformative art that helps us weave together the gritty particulars of our daily lives and the ethereal truths we glimpse in our spiritual practices. For more information or to register visit here.
Facing Our Deaths, Living with Love:
A heart-opening evening of song, practicalities, and poetry
with
Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer & Sherry Richert Belul
Nov. 3, 5:30-7:30 p.m. mountain time
Sliding Scale ($10-$30)
Zoom, recorded
Let’s talk about things that matter. In a world full of noise and distraction, it can be rare that we pause for a deeper conversation about what it means to be human—about love, loss, and legacy. Tickets are sliding scale. Program will be recorded and available to all who register. To register or for more info, visit here
*
The Mystery of Grief: Writing into the Loss
With Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer
On Zoom, hosted by Evermore
Wednesday, November 5, 5-7 p.m. M.T.
When we lose loved ones, writing can be a powerful tool for helping us remember them, helping us re-encounter the world without them, and helping us re-know ourselves as the loss transforms us. To register, visit here.
You Belong Here: A poetry playshop
November 10 5-7 p.m. mountain time
hosted by The Raft
zoom, recorded
sliding scale
What does it mean to trust that we belong? Belong to the world? Belong here at all? Belong to each other? When we feel we belong, we can bring our full-throated, open-hearted selves to a moment. But what is at stake when we feel as if we don’t belong? And what do we turn to then? To register or for more info, visit here.
Wrestling with Praise: Finding Joy and Devotion Even When It Seems Unlikely
December 4-5
Zoom
$175
Please join Rosemerry and Courage & Renewal facilitator Marcia Eames-Sheavly for a one-and-a-half-day contemplative poetry writing retreat as we explore through reflection and writing the praise that can emerge when we are truthful, connected and open. Limited registration. For more information and to register, visit here
Thirty Years Later
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged long marriage, wedding anniversary, wordless on October 20, 2025| 19 Comments »
His hair is white now and hers
streaked with gray. Their skin,
once taut and smooth now loosened.
But their hands still fit the other’s,
the light weight so familiar,
infused with a tenderness
that has deepened over decades.
They are made now of over ten thousand
shared dinners, some in candlelight,
some with chaos. They are made now
of over ten thousand mornings
waking together with their fingers entwined.
Made of mountains they’ve hiked
and trails they’ve skied and gardens
they’ve grown and children they’ve raised
and lost and continue to love.
There is a quiet between them now
that holds them in a way words cannot,
a silence they share that is theirs.
With a gesture, they invite each other
to share the changing leaves, the heron
in flight, the pleasing sour scent
of the garden as it dies. They know
that to share the ephemeral
is one of the greatest gifts we are given.
Tonight they share the rose as dusk fades to dark.
Share the softening of their own aging hearts.
She puts her hand into his, and he receives it.
There are vows, yes, but now
they share what can never be spoken.
One Too Late
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged fire, timing on October 19, 2025| 4 Comments »
only after the blaze
has leapt its stone ring
procuring a bucket of water
One Peaceful
Posted in Uncategorized on October 18, 2025| 6 Comments »
The Holding
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged daily, daughter, holding, letting go, moment, morning, mother on October 17, 2025| 6 Comments »
for Vivian
Just today, you asked me
to hold the front door open,
your own hands too full
with a peach smoothie,
a cup of tea, your backpack
and dance bag and lunch box.
It gave me such joy,
this small act of service,
though now I also see it
as practice in letting you go.
I followed you out the door
into the frost-limned world,
yellow leaves falling before
the sun had yet risen.
It would be easy to forget
this moment with you.
We didn’t even pause
to enjoy it, just inhaled
the chill morning air,
both of us mumbling
how glorious it was
before you walked to the car
and I walked back inside.
Now, I see they’re everything,
these slim moments we share,
for a day is slim and a
year is slim, and soon your whole
childhood will also seem
slim. I hold them to me
like treasure, these slender
chapters, charged as they are
with beauty, hold them to me
even as I practice letting you go.
While Thinking About Letting Go
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged autumn, dead, holding, jay, letting go, sunflower on October 16, 2025| 6 Comments »
I hold a sunflower in my heart,
not in golden bloom, but filled
with small, dry seeds,
a desiccated husk of a disk, brittle
and brown. I hold it here
as a reminder some gifts
look unwanted at first.
I remember the autumn afternoon
I went to pull the dead remains
from the garden, then watched
as the Stellar’s jays landed
atop the tall dark stalks
and feasted. So I let the row
stand instead of clearing it away.
In my attempts to remove
what seemed no longer useful,
I almost missed this chance
to see the Stellar’s Jays balance
on the tips of the plants,
their bodies a blue exultation of wing.
What else have I tried to clear
from my heart too soon? How
easy to miss what is still nourishing.
Out my window, the jays gather
at the banquet of what is dead.
I am learning the wisdom of holding.
Two Radiances
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged candle, loss, scent on October 15, 2025| 11 Comments »
hours ago
I lit a golden candlestick
now only honey-scented space—
years since you’re gone
everywhere I go,
the perfume of you—
Not Alone
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged friendship, uncertainty, whirlpool on October 12, 2025| 8 Comments »
Through the throng
and past the chatter
we slipped into a small
blue sitting room
and there at the edge
of the chaos, she told me
what the doctor said.
The world became
whirlpool, no shore
in sight, and
we met in a perfect
stillness, holding
to each other, our
friendship like driftwood,
no way to steer, but
for that moment, we
floated, floated!
no small thing as
all around us
uncertainty crested
and surged and
crashed and swirled.