NOTE TO SELF by Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer

 One morning, looking at a very smiling picture of myself, I realized that it was not at all how I felt at that moment…

 I was surprised, then, to find myself, really without thinking at all about the why of it, taking down all the photographs in our house, putting them in a bag, and taking them to our storage space. I am still not sure if I can say why this act felt so important, but it did. There was so much freedom in it.

It was as if I was completely honoring the present, not looking back to a previous version of myself for any hope or meaning or story.

I still haven’t put them back up. Nor have I added any new ones. 

And I laugh at myself, because I still take quite a few pictures of my family. And it gives me great pleasure, this act of capturing them as they play on the beach or dance in a recital. Ah, paradox. So for now, the only faces of my son, daughter, husband and myself to be found in our house are the ones that we wear.

Note to Self

Take the picture

from the desk

and put it

in the drawer.

It was true

to a moment

that was before,

but now as

lightning unzips

the sky and now

as the moon

is wholly new

you are no longer

the one the camera knew

with smile aslant

and lashes half-mast

in dreamy fringe.

It’s okay to cry,

to want to grasp—

it’s so human to want

to frame the past

and then attach it

to the fridge or set

it shrine-like on the shelf.

It is not so sad,

tell yourself,

to put the image away.

Notice how

much more you

look out the window.

Notice how much

more you look

at the vase.

And who is

doing the looking?

If sadness comes,

invite it for tea

and drink the dark

cup together. Take

turns sipping, take

your time. You’ll

reach the bottom

soon enough. 

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!~