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June 1, 2014

My Yoga Teacher Is Yoda. ~ Michael Mark {Poem}

Yoda Fountain at the Presidio, San Francisco

My Downward Dog is sad.

My heels are filled with helium.

My hamstrings are stubborn

as Fundamentalists.

 

She has me take Mountain Pose

for five minutes.

 

I must have not been clear.

 

I want my soles to become one

with the mat.

At least not have a long distance

relationship.

 

What are you holding onto? she asks.

 

Nothing, I say.

 

She points with her green eyes.

 

My toes are humped-back, whitened,

in a death grip on the mat.

 

I lighten.

 

My shoulders drop. Gallons

of air flood my body.

 

Now what are you holding onto? she asks.

 

I do a body scan. I want to prove

I learned my lesson.

 

Nothing, I say meekly.

 

What about the idea

of not holding onto something?

 

She is doing a hands-on adjustment on my psyche.

 

My body sinks into itself,

then the mat.

 

I think we’re ready for

that Down Dog, she says.

 

I asked her to improve my postures.

She improves my practice.

 

With gratitude, I bow low.

Believing my heels will follow.

 

 

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Editor: Travis May

Photo Credit: Provided by author

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