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Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer

What Icarus Knew
 Of course I know 
what happens to wax 
when a woman flies
too close to the sun. 
It has been done, 
been done before 
and it will be done 
again, because 
the first thing to melt
is the will to stop 
flying toward 
the sun.

Two Portraits of Patience
waiting for forgiveness
as if it were a train 
and the rails are long gone
my heart an apple blossom 
afraid it doesn't know 
how to become an apple

Wild Rose Steps in at the Circus
And why shouldn't she fill in on the trapeze? 
After all, she's no stranger to ropes and heights.
And The Great Flying Sabrina couldn't be all that great.
She'd broken her neck in her last performance,
and that poor little ringmaster looked so cute
in his top hat and tears. Wild Rose struts into
the trailers behind the tent and finds herself a headdress
with red feathers and a red sequin leotard. Really, 
how hard could it be? Climb the ladder, grab the bar,
smile and swing, gain momentum, flip three times, 
hang from her ankles and spin. Sounds easier 
than other things she's supposed to do tonight. 
Like make that call to apologize. Never mind what for. 
She has other things to think about now, the audience cheering
as she walks into the center ring and lets her robe fall to the floor.

Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer's poetry has appeared in O Magazine, in back alleys, on A Prairie Home Companion and on river rocks. Favorite one-word mantra: Adjust.

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