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One Wild Ride

 

 

the ticket stub

I’ll cherish forever—

admission into this family

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I want to linger at the side of the road

where the dark birds sing into the eddies of dawn,

yes linger in the low-angled light, in the big-hearted shadow

that blankets this bend in the canyon. Though I have many

miles to drive before I arrive, let me stay here

a while beside the river, still for a willowy moment, the water

the only thing moving. How many landscapes do I pass

without meeting them? How many worlds do I miss

as I rush from one here to the next? Oh bless this

quiet, where there is no hum of highway, no rumble,

no center line, no blur. Why do I so seldom linger,

my bones full of rush and current. In this moment,

I remember how deeply I love the stillness of rocks

that haven’t moved for a thousand years, the calm

of the dirt that has nowhere, nowhere to go.

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One Important Tool

 

 

making a shovel

out of my resistance—

digging the rest of it out

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Storage

 

 

I want to hear the green song in the veins of the leaves,

the dark song of soil as it warms in the midsummer sun.

I want to learn the low ballad of beets as they swell,

the racy soprano of strawberries flirty and sweet,

the slow bass of the lonesome potatoes as they fill out their lumps.

How have I not harmonized with the thrust of sunflowers?

How have I missed the chive chorus? The verses of nasturtium?

The chanting of onions as they steep in their own minor key?

If there is a garden holler known by the garlic,

world, teach it to me. I want to hear the carrots

as they reach trustingly down, down, down.

I want to carry those midsummer songs in my bones

so when winter comes, and I forget how things grow,

though it’s quiet and cold, I’ll remember, I’ll remember.

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though during midsummer in Finland, the sun will float

above the horizon line for weeks, and each light-soaked

day seems longest. That is what I wish for you—

day after day of unsetting love, whole months when you feel

the most beloved, the most seen, the most embraced

for exactly who you are. I want to send you

giant bouquets of days, all of them the loveliest,

all of them invitations to feel the most wholly yourself.

And on the shorter days when warmth feels distant,

those are the days I want to remind you that it’s normal

to feel unlovable. It’s normal to feel not enough.

It’s normal to wish (unreasonable though it is)

that those days would disappear and every day could be

the best day, the longest light, the day most soaked with love.

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for C, A, A, A and J

 

 

I want to share with you a trail with no map

and the clean scent of spruce and a clear Colorado sky.

I want to spend an afternoon above tree line

in a field of corn lilies and alpine buttercups

the pica chirping brightly in the rockfall.

Let’s not find the lake we were looking for.

Let’s stop where our feet say stop.

I want to share a leap and a shimmy,

a chocolate cookie, the mighty salt of love.

I want to slide down snowfields on our raincoats,

to find more paths to take another day,

to wade through the cold rush of change.

I want to take a bolt cutter to any door

that won’t let us in, to let the ears of my heart

attune to your words, to lose our hats to the wind

and find them again. And as the night

fills the room, I want to sing as the guitar

of friendship finds a new tune. I want to hear it

play on long after the day has gone.

 

 

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Lights Out

 

 

We would be tucked into our twin beds,

and dad would sit in the door way.

Every night, he’d tell us a story about a boy

and a girl who were very much

like my brother and me, only they lived

amongst the dinosaurs. I don’t remember

how the stories went, but I remember

how I loved them, how my father’s voice

became part of the night, how everything

always turned out right for the kids

in the story. How much I wanted

to be that girl who rode on a pterodactyl,

and how grateful I felt to be the girl I was,

snug under the thin blue blanket,

our small room a cave where anything

could happen, the low tones of my father

quietly cradling me toward sleep.

 

 

 

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“Here Rosemerry shows us how one might endeavor to be the peace we want in the world. One comes away remembering that tending is at the heart of all healing. Because thorn bush. Because great blue heron. Because puddles.”
— Wendy Videlock, author of Nevertheless

Hush Front Cover JPEG

My new book, Hush, is just out! Winner of the Halcyon Prize for a collection of poems about human ecology, it’s a book-long love song to humanity and the natural world. It’s driven by curiosity and a willingness to dance in the unknown. The poems celebrate the broken, the lowly, the humble, the parched, the lost–and find beauty at every turn. And it features a fabulous foreword by Craig Childs, author of Virga and Bone, Apocalyptic Planet and The Secret Knowledge of Water.

You can see the book and purchase it on my website–and I will sign it for you! Or of course you can order it from your local bookseller (please support them) or from Amazon.

And you can hear me read a few poems from it in this reading I did a few weeks ago with Danusha Laméris and James Crews.

I totally believe in giving poems away—as you know—and I will continue to send you poems every day. AND, I would really appreciate it if you would support this poetry practice by purchasing a book. It would mean a lot to me.

Also, if you do order Hush, I would really appreciate it if you would consider writing a review for it on Goodreads or Amazon.

If you want to set up a reading for your organization, send me a note!

love, Rosemerry

“With Hush, Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer once again turns her attention toward insights gleaned from daily life, trusting that everything we encounter, from evergreens and bluebonnets to snapdragons and an achy back after shoveling snow, has something to teach us about being human. Throughout each of these exquisite, open-hearted, often sensual poems, she brings us along as she finds a kind of “renegade beauty” wherever she looks. “Let’s go outside,” she writes, “and praise/the light till the light is gone, and then praise the dark,” modeling for us just the kind of radical gratitude we need in our literature, and in our lives right now.”
— James Crews, editor of Healing the Divide: Poems of Kindness and Connection

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Ravenous

Perhaps I was already full

when Danny offered me

a sweet potato pancake

for breakfast, but there

he was with a bowl

of homemade batter

and a cast iron frying pan

hot on the stove, and so

I did what I longed to do,

I said yes, yes to feeding

a hunger that has little

to do with food—

the hunger for someone else

to offer you something

they’ve made, the joy of sharing

a meal together, the honor

of being served. The fact

that the pancake was delicious—

both sweet and hot—

was a bonus. The salsa

he handed me fiery—

fantastic as long friendship,

fierce as gratitude, as love.

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The duty of a musician is for us to take anything that happens on stage and make it part of the music.

—Herbie Hancock, Master Class

 

 

No wrong notes in jazz, said the musician

and the poet insisted, no wrong words.

No wrong leaf, said the tree,

and field said, no wrong grass.

No wrong time, promised the friend

and the river said, no wrong rock.

And the heart said, no wrong love,

but the mind said, no, that’s wrong.

And the wrong love replanted itself like grass

and grew wild in all the wrong places

like a gorgeous weed, like a tap-rooted song

until the whole field was beautifully wrong, wrong.

 

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