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Posts Tagged ‘self-portrait’

The Last Parent Teacher Conferences

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , on March 3, 2026| 2 Comments »


 
 
If I were like Suzanne Valadon,
fearlessly painting self-portraits as I age,
I would paint this moment
when I wander the high school halls
between teacher conferences, this moment
when I’m so full of love for the girl
who will graduate this spring
that I’m weeping and laughing
beside yellow lockers and posters
for basketball games. Gratefulness
can break a heart open as easily as sorrow.
In fact, the tear as it reaches the curve
of my lips, I think it would fill the whole frame.

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Self-Portrait as Root Vegetable

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , on January 28, 2023| 9 Comments »




 
 
It’s science, of course,
how the sugars in beets
will caramelize when heated,
a process that includes conversion,
condensation, dehydration,
collisions, and the formation
of thousands of volatile compounds.
And though it’s not simple,
and though this process of sweetening
is not fully understood,
sweetening happens. Every time.
Is it wrong this gives me hope
for other hard and bitter things?
Just asking the question,
already I feel myself begin to soften.

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Self-Portrait in Marble

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , on January 28, 2021| 2 Comments »




With its tiny claw chisel
Thursday has chipped
and carved, made cross hatches
and striations in who I thought I was
on Wednesday. Every day
there is less of me, and
every day I am fashioned
more into who I am, this
diminishing work in progress
in which the sculptor never
stops—once I thought
it would take forever to make
me, now there’s so little
left of the block I understand
that only what is not here
will be forever.

Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer970-729-1838 wordwoman.com
Watch my TEDx talk The Art of Changing Metaphors: TEDX Rosemerry Trommer

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Chicken Little Draws a Self-Portrait

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , on August 30, 2013| 1 Comment »

Of course there’s the sky,
puddles of blue and
and mounds of white clouds
all around Chicken Little’s
scaly orange feet.
It occurs to him
only then, as he draws
his own ineffective wings
that perhaps the sky
is not falling at all.
Perhaps he is, at last,
learning a new way to fly.

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