(reposted from A Hundred Falling Veils)
Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer’s poem is about aging and wine. Her humane, specific reflections push way beyond the cliche “aging like fine wine.”
The wine in the glass remembers the long days in darkness how it couldn’t breathe, how it lost its scent of grape and became more grapefruit, more green pepper, more grass. How it lost its harsh taste, lost its astringence, and became rounder, more smooth, more wine. I, too, am changing in these long days. I, too, am converting what I’ve known into what I will be. I, too, am becoming something I almost don’t recognize— heady with transformation, yet tethered by memory of what it was like to feel trapped, what it was like to steep in that darkness, to have to learn to trust whatever came next.
A Hundred Falling Veils is a blog I visit often. Poet Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer posts a poem there every day. I like their richness, their humanity in lines that are clear although often startling. The balance she strikes between pattern and surprise appeals to me. She pushes me just a little further every time, kindly.