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Posts Tagged ‘support’

 

 

 

wanting to be your lifeboat

when what you really need

is someone to let you swim

 

 

 

 

and if you live nearby, you may want to consider this public speaking class I will be teaching for the next six Thursdays through Ah Haa … http://www.ahhaa.org/calendarize/public-speaking-rosemerry-wahtola-trommer/

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On a Difficult Day

 

 

Because I don’t know how to pray,

I do what I know to do,

which is to sit very quietly

and let myself feel. To hold you

without holding you.

To imagine your fear

and breathe into it.

To feel my own fear

and walk the edges of its cliffs.

To lean on hope with its flimsy

net and feel how little it takes

to catch us, to save us.

 

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Only Four Inches Thick

 

 

How does it do it,

the skin of ice—

it holds our weight

we who skate

in circles around

the frozen lake.

Though it groans

and cracks,

it holds us,

this solid ground

made of what

is not always solid.

Is it too much

to hope that we, too,

might sometimes

be able to hold

the weight of others

with such clarity,

such polished grace?

Our skates carve

unreadable cursive

into the surface.

Below us, clouds blossom

in the ice—bouquets

for days such as these

when everything

seems possible,

even improbable strength,

even falling through.

 

 

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One Together

 

weeping under the weight

of the burden, still grateful

to help carry it

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What We Do When We Can Do Nothing Else

When trouble comes
with its long gray dress
and its hungry eyes
and its basket of woe,
when trouble comes
with its insomnia
and note past due
that you know you can never pay,
when trouble comes
with its refusal to let you
be bailed out this time
no matter how crisp
the hundreds are,
I do not want to be
the one who lies to you
and says it will all be okay.
I don’t want to play
the teacher and talk
about how the world
erodes us until we shine.
I want to be the one
who holds your hand,
though, even if it is
from many hundreds
of miles away, and
even if you do not hear me
say it, I will be thinking,
miracles happen,
and you are one.
I will write you a poem
made of doors, all
of them open,
even the one
that trouble walks in,
even the one
that trouble walks out.

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