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.