by Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer
Sometimes I’m like the four-year-old
girl in the silvery snowflake costume
who stands in the lights at the edge of the stage
not remembering to plie, nor to turn, nor to raise both arms,
who remembers only to wave to you.
(ed. note: See Rosemerry's poetry blog, http://ryezome.wordpress.com/, for a beautiful daily fix)