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.
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.
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!~
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