A yoga poem
My palms meet at heart’s center.
In a butterfly’s brief landing
I set my intention
before my mind flutters away again,
back to the street I grew up on.
over every memorized wave,
I flow along Edison Road
until I reach the Campbell’s house,
and pause in forward fold at the stop sign,
while the peacocks sing their sun salutation.
Half-lifting, my gaze softens
enough to see the roof of my house,
peeking up over the cornfields
that make the air thicken
with must and memories this time of year.
I mountain pose with the brushy foothills
before my practice takes me deeper.
Coming into warrior-two on my left-hand side,
I follow the mossy ditch down the driveway,
and inhale, arms up overhead.
I’m reaching toward the harvest sun,
just as I always used to,
when I climb the stairs to the fading deck
and exhale open the kitchen door.
my palms meet at heart’s center.
Writing and photography by: Katy Claire Funke