My knee locks

when it should be straight

My hips shut up shop

when they should be flung open

“Left foot forward

press your right hand to the mat.”

But the only voice I hear

Is the whale of my thigh

as fiercely cold

As a beginning-of-summer ocean

We try again

you take my weight

the wail becomes a murmur

Then a whisper

I release the fear

That I am a burden

I begin to learn

Of my own lightness.

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Editor: Dana Gornall

Photo credit: Flickr Creative Commons