Nov 17 09: Moving
November 18, 2009 § 3 Comments
Second, here’s another damn poem. The prompt? A “slow poem.”
Move your head slowly to the right,
says the yoga man. Cautiously,
I lower my chin – my neck feels stiff,
a brittle trunk. Its amber muscles
clench in alarm. It doesn’t want to move,
this sturdy carrier, this fossil of my being.
I tilt my nose upwards – slightly –
towards the sun he asked us
to imagine. The sun makes me live,
I think, it warms my leaves and
roots. I hear a creak and snap, a rustle
near my heart and quickly
return to my resting place. A warm hand
lights briefly on my shoulder.
Move, yoga man says, move.