08 May Poets’ Corner: Rosemerry for Mother’s Day, 3’s the Charm!
Things that come in sets of three have long been associated with good luck. In. fact the number 3 has held near-mystical significance across many cultures — think fairy tales (three wishes, three brothers); theater (three acts); religion (Holy Trinity); and now Rosemerry Trommer’s 3 poems for Mother’s Day: “One for my mother, one for mothering my girl, and one for being a bereaved mom,” our favorite Word Women explains.
On Mother’s Day Rosemerry’s beautiful words reinforce the central role our moms played (and still play) in the narratives of our lives.
Rosemerry and her beloved mom (a few years ago).
Dressing for the Wedding
She doesn’t want to wear short sleeves, she says,
because they will show her “old woman arms.”
Sometimes worry is just another word
for wanting to be loved just as we are.
I want to remind her how her arms
have been cradles and rocking chairs.
They’ve been cranes that lifted children
and grandchildren high. Her arms
have been levers and ladders and lifeboats.
They’ve been flagpoles and bridge makers
and chapels. Her arms kneaded the dough of my life
and still hold me when I am tired, broken,
scared, depressed. I hope she wears a sleeveless
dress for no other reason than to show
the whole world how her arms are still
in service to love, and damn, how they can flex.
Watching My Daughter Before Her Senior Prom
More flowing than walking
she moves down the street,
her green dress billowing,
her shoulders bare.
Sometimes the world
asks us to do impossible math—
for instance to add more love
when already we are filled to capacity
with love. And again tonight, I meet it,
the impossible.
So Alive
Finn, the larkspur are nearly done blooming now,
the tall stalks are scruffy with seed pods where
the dark blue petals used to be.
Is it strange to give you the garden report?
Today is four years since you chose to leave
this world of bindweed and deep red dahlia,
this world of millipedes and green beans
dangling on their vines. The sky is thick
with smoke from a wildfire not so far away.
It was a relief when it began to rain
while I was picking snapdragons and
sunflowers, zinnias and lavender.
I didn’t mind getting drenched
while I filled five vases with flowers,
four vases for our home and one
your father and I took to your grave.
I felt so alive in the middle of the storm,
arranging the blooms in vases just so
while the water dripped from my hair, my nose.
Felt so alive as I smelled the air and spoke
to you and the flowers and sky.
Today my friend Wini told me one way
to keep life sacred is to ask the holy to come.
Please, I said as I stood in the rows.
Please, come. Is it possible the asking itself
is the bridge from the everyday to the holy?
Because I felt it. There in the rain
with my grief-bent heart. There beside
the calendula, aphids and all. Hair plastered
to my head. Tears on my face. Memory
of you writing I love you in the carrot bed.
Me making bouquets for a difficult day.
Even when it hurts, the holy.
Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer, more:
Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer, credit; Joanie Schwarz.
Website: wordwoman.com <https://www.wordwoman.com/>
Daily poetry blog: A Hundred Falling Veils <https://ahundredfallingveils.com/>
Daily poetry app for your phone: The Poetic Path <https://app.ritual.io/rosemerry>
Podcast on creative process: Emerging Form <https://emergingform.substack.com/>
Newest Books: “The Unfolding” <https://bookshop.org/p/books/the-unfolding-rosemerry-wahtola-trommer/21735297?ean=9781961741164>, “All the Honey” <https://bookshop.org/p/books/all-the-honey-rosemerry-wahtola-trommer/18666020>
TEDx: The Art of Changing Metaphors <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eXC3-ZFkhDo>
Poetry album Risking Love<https://rosemerrywahtolatrommer.bandcamp.com/album/risking-love>
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