I lay you down to greet the sun,
a firm base for my tadasana.

You grab my hands as I bow down,
securing my pose in your grip,
never the first to let go.

As breath stretches limbs,
heavy memories trapped in
cells shed from my skin.
You fold them up in your tight lips,
never to speak of them again.

You are my rock, my roots,
my cradle in Savasana.
You transform from solid to soft,
echoing the process of practice.
Only you witness those sweet divine moments
when tears slip from my face to yours.

A closing OM benediction
soaks into your fibers,
ending our union for now.
I say goodbye with a curl of my fingers
and fasten you up,
hoping to soon meet again.

And so, my loyal friend,
rolled in the corner
like a fresh cut log,
waiting in your quiver to be
unwrapped for worship,
I thank you.

Originally published in Volume 1 of The Poetry of Yoga book anthology

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Author: Randi Martin

Editor: Renée Picard

Image: courtesy of the author