zenful

Sometime in the latter half of 2011, my friend Odette and I started going to Candlelight Yoga. The class is from 8-9pm, so work couldn't be an excuse, and it kept us from eating or drinking too much on any given evening. (You have to behave before yoga, and afterwards, what's the point of indulging when you've just zenfully burned calories?)

We were under the impression that it would be a soothing end to our days, one hour of breathing in candlelight and exhaling our day.

Ha.

It's power yoga, people. It is one very, very intense hour, set to *fabulous* rock music (no water trickling over stones for this group), led by the amazing and talented Alexis.

It kicks. your. ass. In the dark, so no one sees how much you're sweating, panting, releasing. And you love it, because you still get to spend an hour breathing in candelight, exhaling your day.

The first class I went to was the first time I'd ever done pigeon pose. It is hard. We hold each side for enough time that you feel toxins leave your body but not so long that we get stiff. I usually need help getting my hips aligned with my feet, the earth, any sense of graceful balance.

So here Odette and I are, bent in new ways, and I just start sobbing.

The below poem was originally titled "Yoga." I have renamed it "pigeon pose." It is a decade old today.

*

pigeon pose

a full body experience

our instructor reminded me

of someone he would have liked

small frame, perky breasts,

I-dont-care hair

another member of the class had his hair

except in gray

as soon as I started sweating

I could smell last nights boy

in my skin

I could smell him waking me up

his fingers on my bare skin

lips against breasts against clitoral moisture

then, during stretches that were

contortionistically painful

I thought of the ways

you manipulated my body

bringing my arms forward,

refusing to listen to me breathe

as you inhaled my soul

exhaled your lies

spread my legs at ninety degree angles

and bent yourself over

I almost had to leave the room

during the last moments

"Feel all the stress and tension

slide out of your feet

out of the palms of your hands"

here I am, lying in so many memories

of love, of hate, of hurt

here I am, arms outstretched

my back curled similarly

to the way it straightened

under you

the friend Im taking classes with

on our way back to campus

windows down, sunshine and pollen flooding us:

"Gosh, you know, that relaxation part at the end just made me want to pray."

Yep. Me too.

April 16, 2002