The tiger paces in the cage of my belly.
I try to feed him fire so my heart won’t smoke.
I cut up pieces of spirit and roast them with peppers
And offer them on a sword through the bars
Of the cage that contain his pacing but nothing else.
I cut his tongue out years ago yet I know his cries.
He comes to me at night as if part wolf and stares
As if the moon could pull the tides’ waves over him
Like a blanket of coolness, rocking what burns.
I honor him at dawn knowing my dreams
Bring him peace and settle my angst with his claws.
I hide the sharps from his thoughts and let
Him tease his way into mine, feeling his strength,
Knowing I dare not look into those eyes for fear
Would strike me blind and if he could he’d swipe
My face and grab my tongue to pull it out, to even
The score, so I’d know what he knows, stuck
In darkness where freedom cannot roam , I’d master
Hunger and learn to listen like a servant who knows
His home is not his, as I live in a body I barely know.
I am a full time yoga teacher, trained at City Fitness in Washington, DC, and Willow Street Yoga Center in Silver Spring, Maryland. I have been writing poetry since I was 9 years old. Poetry is my first love and yoga continues to feed my heart. I write because I love it. I teach because I love it. I tell my students all the time: do it because you can. That works for me. I believe in creating opportunity. I believe in helping my self and others. I think faith is the most important gift of life, because when we lose everything else we still have that in our heart. I believe the natural state of being is happiness, or bliss, or Ananda. Life is a celebration. Poetry and yoga help me celebrate. My blog and website: Edie Yoga.
Editor: Kate Bartolotta
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July’s Full Moon in Capricorn: The Heart wants what it Wants. The 4 Stages of a Good Divorce. How to Love a Woman who Scares You. Our Soulmates are Rarely Who We Expect. I Still Think of You. Men, Let’s Stop Fooling Ourselves: Size Matters. To the One Who Tried to Break Me. An Open Letter to the Fixers. How your Stored Memories in the Amygdala can lead to PTSD. How My Sister’s Death Transformed my Self-Perception.