April 21, 2014

The Stain on the Yoga Studio’s Ceiling. ~ Michael Mark {Poem}

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It makes me feel dirty.

In a factory I’d excuse it,

but here?


I reselect my spot

to erase it from my consciousness.

I settle into my warm up.


It looks at me, an eye

with a hairy brown pupil.


I go inward.


As we raise our Steeple Mudra

to the sky it is a dark cloud.


I lift my gaze up in Cow.

It is a butcher.


In Triangle, I point to it.

A warning.


During Supine Twists, I try

to kick it off the ceiling.


I bristle at bowing before it

in Humble Warrior.


As my yoga teacher spreads my

third eye open in Savasana


I see it is a stain.


My negative perceptions

are replaced

by acceptance.


Still, I’ll mention it

on the way out.


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Editor: Jenna Penielle Lyons

Photo: Wikimedia Commons 


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