Still Here from Risking Love by Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer and Steve Law

After I did not die the first minute,
I lived the next minute.
More truly, life lived me.
More truly, the thick air,
infused with lake scent and
rosemary and late summer
insisted I breathe. More
that the sun did not let me
not see my beloveds still here.
The thick green leaves
of August reminded me
life pushes through.
There was not a half second
I forgot the horror.
And still I did not die.
After I lived the first day,
I lived the next day,
opened the door and
drove the car and held close
the people I love.
Rain fell and a rainbow
bloomed and the night
was sleepless and long.
And longer. I lived the next week.
The next. The next.
I lived the next year.
And the next. More truly,
the same life that lives
through mushroom, tulip,
magpie, worm, eagle, you,
that same life keeps living me.
The horror, no less real.
And love continues to sprout
like new trees after fire.
Slow, and indisputable. A gift.
What seemed gone is still here.
The way light and dark and
air are still here. Another
day. Another year.

• Inspirational
• Spoken Word
• chill
• contemplative
• poetry
• poetry and music
• Telluride