Skip to main content


When a child is first born, it can sometimes provide a portal for living in the present…

All the new baby’s needs are immediate. Feed me now. Sleep now. Hold me now. Cry now. And for a precious, brief bubble of time, mothers are pulled into that “be here now” way of living. 

I was very aware, as my daughter grew, of her language  acquisition, and it seemed to me that as she learned words such as “mine” that I could see the ways in which her experience of world was also expanding. 

That was especially apparent with the introduction of the present progressive. It was, like any milestone, such a thrill! And at the same time, such a loss. 

Ah, mothering, how it teaches us again and again how to hold and let go at the same time.

Vivian Learns Present Progressive

Mama chasing me, she says,
and she runs with her small feet

tilt-syncopated and youth drunk
and for the first time she –ings

in her speech, and the moment
leaps out of the present and leans

into the thought that an object
in motion remains in motion

and life scampers on past
this frame

where she and I race around
the green countertop. And the present,

once all there was, grows wings. And it’s true,
I am chasing, have chased and will still

be chasing her long after her squeal
has left its sender to find the moon.

We push toward the future so soon and then
spend a whole lifetime trying to unlearn

the present progressive, to wholly embrace
what is now. I chase. I crave. I learn. We reach,

and I would make the seconds hover
if I could, and still all my longing and slow

the light as it leaves. But morning
slips its scaffolding and she’s lying in bed

tonight cooing the alphabet in gibberish, a verb
who is falling but has not yet quite fallen asleep.


(Poem originally published in 'The Less I Hold' available here

The author with her children

Poet Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer “is a chanteuse of the heart,” says poet Art Goodtimes. She served two terms as the first poet laureate for San Miguel County, Colorado, where she still leads monthly poetry readings, teaches in schools, leads writing workshops and leaves poems written on rocks around the town. Her most recent collection, The Less I Hold, comes out of her poem-a-day practice, which she has been doing for over seven years. Her work has also appeared on A Prairie Home Companion and in O Magazine, on tie-dyed scarves, alleyway fences and in her children’s lunchboxes. Visit her website here for ideas about writing, and to read her daily poems click here. 

~If you are interested in seeing your poetry appear in this blog, or submitting a poem by a woman that has inspired you, please click here for submission guidelines. I greatly look forward to hearing from you!~ 


Popular posts from this blog

MY HEART SEEPS by Edith Lazenby

Courage is not only facing fear, but also looking past fear, to see what lies it tells and truths it saves...
Sometimes I sit at a computer in trepidation. The house trembles and I wonder what I will find. 
Truth is not a fact or a feeling. It may rest on love’s heart and walk with integrity. It may stand beyond humanity in ways we can only imagine. Truth can be solid as earth and fickle as wind. But a wind can know stillness and the earth can crack wide open.
Tonight I found a stillness in a crack and managed to balance there...

My Heart Seeps
by Edith Lazenby
I cannot hold on And I cannot let go. I walk a path I don’t know. I feel moonlight But cannot see Its orb midst The cloudy cold. My hands tremble. My eyes tear. My toes wriggle To grasp earth. I want to stand Tall in the light Yet fear shadows all. Inside I crumble Under the weight I cannot shoulder.

IMAGINE A WOMAN by Patricia Lynn Reilly

This poem invites you to look upon yourself with loving kindness…
Gazing at your own true reflection, you will discover that everything you have longed for “out there” is already within you! I invite you to love your creativity fiercely. Faithfully plant seeds, allowing under-the-ground dormant seasons, nurturing your creative garden with love and gratitude. In the fullness of time, the green growing things thrust forth from the ground. It's a faithful, trustworthy process. AND it takes time and patience.  Blessed is the fruit of your creative womb! I invite you to trust your vision of the world and express it. With wonder and delight, paint a picture, create a dance, write a book, and make up a song. To give expression to your creative impulses is as natural as your breathing. Create in your own language, imagery, and movement. Follow no script. Do not be limited by the customary way things have been expressed. Your creative intuition is original. Gather all of life into your inner c…

DEPRESSION by Veronica Carpenter

Here goes my vulnerability A heart on a sleeve The typical person who looks at me May not see the same me that I live with daily The mind in the air, swirling with possibility When the darkness rallies/gathers/swirls When I am left to solitude This paper-thin garb unzips Here comes depression          
No I don’t want to advertise So flash a smile Those who are close get to see Through the veil, it’s really not that thick Circumstances in life like to stab at the rib Stumble, fall behind the door Shut out the world Feelings well and weigh down Strength hidden deep in the core So deep that sometimes it’s forgotten Here comes the darkness My old friend Sweeping through my every move  Doubts, fears, un-named masked men Oozing like honey, sticking to everything
Patience is required to get on this ride There is a cycle but its pattern is unknown Slowly my gift will unwrap itself Stay on the path Coming back to that which never truly left me Just laid sleeping out of exhaustion from the fight Dormant in winter…