In the dark house
we watch the moon
rise through the window,
watch as its fullness
climbs into the sky.
For everything we see,
so much we miss.
But in this moment,
your hand in mine,
we give the moon
all our attention until
every part of us,
even our wounds, are
shining.
Posts Tagged ‘becoming’
How We Momentarily Become the Moon
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged attention, becoming, connection, moon on January 3, 2026| 2 Comments »
A Wild Becoming
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged becoming, collaboration, Kellie Day, love, possibility, power, strength on March 1, 2025| 20 Comments »
And then came the day I discovered
a sky full of birds inside and around me,
all of them singing love, love, love.
Around my shoulders appeared
a cloak of stars going supernova.
In my womb swirled a chorus of waves.
How could I not have known I was
growing a crown of antlers?
How could I have missed
my whole life has been preparing me
to transform who I am for love?
Now all I want is to open enough
to let love do with me what it will.
I want to be in service to the radiance
that even now begins to shine through.
I want to lose what I thought I knew
of my story. And though fear is also here,
I want to surrender to the strange
and insistent voice of love saying,
These are the gifts you’ve been given.
Now, sweetheart, now, be the change.
—Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer
*
Well, today was such fun, friends! I spent it with my friend Kellie Day (you can hear an interview I did with her on Emerging Form here), and we created these fabulous, powerful versions of ourselves (almost six feet tall!, using paint, collage, spray paint, marker). Between each stage of art, we wrote poems inspired by process, parts of which entered our paintings (see my word-lined cloak and Kellie’s “goddess bodice”). It was such a day of self-discovery, surprising potential and infinite possibility. Maybe you’d want to join us in person May 30 when we offer a class together? If yes, let me know and I can put you on a list for information.
In Less Than Fifteen Minutes
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged becoming, joy, nature, outside on March 6, 2024| 5 Comments »
As easy as stepping out the door,
this chance to drop the self who does,
the self who walls and calendars and phones,
the self who dishes and bills and desks
and become the self that becomes—
become whispering field and bright
squawking jay and full silence rising
mid squawks. Become sun-puddled,
sky-muddled, breeze-ruffled
heartbeat, spruce-reaching,
blue-winging, leaf-whirling heartbeat,
snow-melting, cliff-lifting,
grass greening heartbeat, become
heart warmth beat heart breath beat
heart sun beat heart cloud beat
heart heart heart heart
as if this time I’ll never forget.
After a Difficult Day
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged becoming, garden, self-care on July 19, 2023| 8 Comments »
I go to the garden
and snip the dead blooms
and talk to the beans
and stake the tall stalks
of blue delphiniums.
I plunge my hands
in the dirt to pull weeds
and pull spinach into my mouth.
In an hour, I am wholly new.
But to remember who I am,
five minutes will do.
The Miracle of Becoming
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged becoming, love, moment, morel, mushroom on May 18, 2023| 15 Comments »
Add this to my list of small ecstasies.
—James Crews
It’s a small ecstasy when,
strolling through the field,
I see the mottled tip
of the blonde morel
pushing up through bent grass.
And another. And another.
They were not here yesterday,
but now I kneel on the earth
with my blade sharp and true
and slice through the strange
and rubbery stems
and hold the handful of treasure
to my nose and breathe in
the earthy, woodsy scent.
So curious to think how they go
from not being here to being here.
Like when I realize I love someone,
but can’t say precisely when love began.
A life is made of such moments—
this wonder that rises
at the miracle of becoming,
this sweet gift of passing through.
First Time Driving in the Berkshires
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged becoming, daughter, dreams, home, parenting on May 5, 2023| 6 Comments »
I could live here, says my daughter;
and staring into the generous green
and the time-softened hills,
she sees an open door in the landscape,
a door she could walk through
and call the new place home—
and I watch as she becomes
the hero of her own story,
watch as in the passenger seat
she grows wings, listen as she hums
like a tuning fork suddenly come alive,
struck by her own dreams,
and mygod, its beautiful watching
as aspiration slips itself into her body
and whispers possibilities
and bids her keep her eyes open.
Allium
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged becoming, gardening, onion, patience on April 25, 2021| 2 Comments »
While I did not fix
the thing I most
wish to fix, and I
did not do
the most important
thing on my list,
and I did not save
anyone, and I did
not solve the world’s
problems, I did
plant the onion sets
in the garden,
pressed my fingers
into the dry earth,
knew myself as
a thin dry start.
Oh patience, good
self. This slow
and quiet growing,
this, too, is
what you are
here to do.
published in ONE ART: A journal of poetry
The Vendor
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged becoming, map, poem, poetry, uncertainty on January 11, 2020| Leave a Comment »
And if there were a map
for the path of my own becoming,
I wouldn’t buy it.
I tried. I marched up to the vendor
of maps, took out my coin,
and held it out for the exchange,
but was startled by an inner revolt—
not an angry crowd but a quiet, insistent no.
I put the coin back in my pocket
and walked away, wildly aware
I had no idea what step came next.
The Girl Who Sat and Read in the Weeping Willow Tree
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged ars poetica, becoming, poem, poetry, reading, tree on January 9, 2020| Leave a Comment »
Even then she was becoming
a dreamer, a lover of bark,
a student of solitude. Even then
she noticed how there were places
and moods that words couldn’t touch—
even then she felt the joy in trying anyway.
For Her to Find
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged becoming, daughter, normal, poem, poetry on May 10, 2016| 1 Comment »
She watches the window waiting
for the owl to arrive with a letter
in its beak with her name on it,
or perhaps for a faun to show up
in plain clothes and escort her
to the gates of Camp Half Blood
where she might be claimed
as the daughter of Aphrodite.
Oh how she prays for any
formal invitation to a place
where she would discover she is something
more than just a normal girl
with normal talents and a normal
life. I don’t tell her that there
are invitations even now
for her to discover her true nature—
in the pond, on the trunk of the cottonwood,
in the river rocks, in the moss—
all of them magic, just waiting
for her to open them.