No Trophy, But

by Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer

Just when I thought I couldn’t possibly

feel more love than I do,

today, the heart beats its own record—

falls in love with my daughter

singing Disney in the car.

In love with my husband

heating water for my tea.

In love with the leaves as they spread

golden praise through the yard.

In love with the sacred mess.

In love with each person who

meets another with kindness.

I fall in love with cats and candles,

the hill as I climb it,

the wind as it chills me,

and sunflowers that bloom despite snow.

And the raw me who aches, I love her, too.

And the naked me who weeps—

what else is she supposed to do?

And the quiet that comes

when I lean in to listen to what is most true.

It wasn’t a love contest today,

and yet, inside me, love continued to grow.

Last week, I felt emptied, scoured,

scraped clean, prepared for something—

I knew not what.

Perhaps I was being prepared for more love.

Love for the emptiness. Love for the scouring.

Love for the being scraped clean. Love

that expands despite heartache, because heartache.

Love that asks nothing. And gives it all.

And keeps giving.

~ Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer