I am pedestrian. Earthbound. Jejune. 

All different and slightly fancy ways to say…I’m boring. I sleep. Eat. Go to work. Come home to my Mister. Write. And repeat.

Poem: Saturdays, I Yoga

Saturdays, I Yoga

I stare into a mirror longer
than the room. See my body
in a sea of bodies — all younger,
slimmer than mine. We twist and bend,
swan dive and stretch. Transform
ourselves into cows, planks, dogs.
I tell myself our contortions
are just a fun game of charades
and laugh when even I can’t guess
which animal or farm tool I’m imitating.
I sweat and heave, hide my wheezes
inside our teacher’s call to Exhale.
She instructs us to Inhale good thoughts
about our bodies. I think good girl
at my padded middle spilling over
my padded thighs. My body leans
into each motion: forward and back,
straightening and folding. It whispers
back to me its own good girl.

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