“Nooooooooo,” she begins, raising herself
into Cobra pose here on the bathroom floor.
“Ooooooooooohhhhhh,” she goes on,
shifting Cobra to Plank,
still with four paws on the floor –
two hands, two feet, nine years.
“You will be ready when it’s time to go.”
“Okay,” she appeases me, moving Nose to Knee,
now staring only at the floor. Slow morning we’re having.
Deep sigh, she and I. Breathe. Begin again. Breathe.
“Tired?” I ask. “No,” she replies.
Staccato. Short. Strong.
It’s going to be one of those.
I lift my chin, Sun Salutation.
Breathe. Strength. Breathe.
Ready to begin.
* * * * *
30 poems in 30 days.