
09 May Poets’ Corner: Rosemerry Gift Wraps Three for Mother’s Day for Mom, Daughter & Son
Mother’s Day was first suggested in 1872 by Julia Ward Howe (who wrote the words to the “Battle Hymn of the Republic”) as a day dedicated to peace.
In 1907, Philadelphian Ana Jarvis began a campaign to establish a national Mother’s Day. She persuaded her mother’s church in Grafton, W.V. to celebrate Mother’s Day on the second anniversary of her mother’s death, the second Sunday of May.
After establishing Mother’s Day in Philadelphia, Ana Jarvis and her supporters wrote to ministers, businessman, and politicians around the U.S. promoting the idea of a national Mother’s Day. They were successful and, by 1911, Mother’s Day was celebrated in almost every state.
In 1914, President Woodrow Wilson proclaimed Mother’s Day a national holiday.
Mothering cakes. Flowers. Chocolate. Things in big boxes. Things in small boxes (even better). Telluride Inside… and Out offers a simple tribute in the form of three poignant poems by Word Woman Rosemerry Trommer, a mom who gifts-wraps her love with eloquence.
(Rosemerry’s latest books of poetry, “The Unfolding” and “All the Honey” are available on Rosemerry’s website.)
Preserving Sweetness (for her Mom)
The whole house smelled
of ripening then the day mom
made apples into sauce.
The heat from the stove
made the small kitchen
swelter, and the autumn air
almost shined with the bright
scent of Jonathan, Pippin,
Winesap, Cortland.
Her arms were strong then,
straining to push the blushing
pink mash through the sieve,
slow and stiff with the effort.
Perhaps there is a language
somewhere that has a word
for this: the way something sweet
can linger, how it flows over,
around and through the body
like the cidery scent of apples
till it lodges itself in the memory.
Oh Mama, I want to serve this
sweetness to you now,
the memory of you stirring
with two good, strong arms,
the way you put all of who you were
into the smallest of acts,
how fifty years later,
what you did that one afternoon
still matters.
—Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer, from The Unfolding (Wildhouse Publishing, 2024)
I Live for This Moment, (I Live for This Moment,
when my daughter stumbles
sleepy-eyed from her room
and no matter what I’m doing,
I stop and move to the corner
of the couch so she can settle
her whole weight on me.
Maybe we speak of dreams.
Maybe we converse with the cat.
Maybe we plan the day.
Maybe we say nothing at all.
All that matters is that
she is close and I nuzzle my face
into her hair and wrap an arm
around her chest and know
this is the beginning of everything,
the seed, the cosmic swirl,
the headline that’s never written.
To foster one moment of trust
and love is to belong
to a crucial revolution.
So vital, how we hold each other.
What happens everywhere
starts right here.
—Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer, from The Unfolding (Wildhouse Poetry, 2024)
I Live for This Moment, (for her daughter)
when my daughter stumbles
sleepy-eyed from her room
and no matter what I’m doing,
I stop and move to the corner
of the couch so she can settle
her whole weight on me.
Maybe we speak of dreams.
Maybe we converse with the cat.
Maybe we plan the day.
Maybe we say nothing at all.
All that matters is that
she is close and I nuzzle my face
into her hair and wrap an arm
around her chest and know
this is the beginning of everything,
the seed, the cosmic swirl,
the headline that’s never written.
To foster one moment of trust
and love is to belong
to a crucial revolution.
So vital, how we hold each other.
What happens everywhere
starts right here.
—Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer, from The Unfolding (Wildhouse Poetry, 2024)
May Again
May again, and the lilac buds
are swelling and the apple leaves
are on the verge of unfurling
and it’s almost Mother’s Day.
The geese have arrived,
and the hummingbirds weave
and the grosbeaks swarm the feeder.
On the counter, the succulents
you gave me two years ago
have doubled in size.
I treasure them beyond
their thick leaves—
treasure, more, perhaps,
their roots.
I am well aware
that although you are gone
I am no less your mom.
I want to praise what is infinite,
which I am best taught
through what doesn’t last.
What doesn’t last:
the body, the bloom,
the boy, the blood.
What lasts forever:
the growing,
the breaking open,
the winging toward love.
Mike
Posted at 06:50h, 11 MayLovely, as always!
Jackie U
Posted at 07:11h, 11 MayThank you for these Mothers Day poems Rosemerry.. What a gift! xoxo Jackie
Laura Cooper
Posted at 07:37h, 11 MaySuch beauty from such rich loam. Rosemerry, thank you for what you do. The alchemy of your poetry connects me deeply to the current of life that runs beneath good/bad, up/down and only poetry can describe the depth of that gift. Here’s to you, your family, your children and the land that holds you.
Joan Shearer
Posted at 19:43h, 11 MayI hold my breath as you breath your love words
Alexandria Hilton
Posted at 20:50h, 11 MayDear Rosemary, Though we have not met, you live in me in many ways through your words, memories you share that evoke my own,, feelings I cannot find words for,,you find those words. Your gifts are giving every day and today on Mother’s Day most of all. Thank you dear talented woman, poet, mother who blesses our world with your love, caring, kindness and raw emotion!! Gratefully,, Alexandria Hilton ❤️
Terry Jordan
Posted at 07:47h, 12 MayDear Rosemerry,
The poetry flowing through you swirls into long forgotten sweet and bitter memories and gently whisper, “Stay here. Stay open!”