Translation

Once I would say “table,” and mean
“table.” Once, I would say
“broccoli” and mean “broccoli.”
I would say “stone” and mean
“stone.” I really did believe
that things were separate.
And nameable. Now,
every word that comes
out of my mouth, no matter
how many syllables, no matter
the tone of voice, no matter
my intention, I’ve come to understand
that every word
is really just a translation
for thank you,
thank you for this moment.
And every silence between the words,
regardless how brief,
is really just the sound
of one hand in gratitude clapping.

Posted by kind permission of the poet. This poem first appeared on Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer’s daily poem blog, A Hundred Falling Veils.

Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer

Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer is a poet, teacher, speaker and writing facilitator who co-hosts the Emerging Form podcast on creative process. Her daily audio series, The Poetic Path, is on the Ritual app. Her poems have appeared on A Prairie Home Companion, PBS News Hour, O Magazine, American Life in Poetry, and Carnegie Hall stage. Her most recent poetry collections are All the Honey (Samara Press, 2023) and The Unfolding (Wildhouse Publishing, October 2024). In January, 2024, she became the first poet laureate for Evermore, helping others explore grief, bereavement, wonder and love through poetry. One-word mantra: Adjust.

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