by Abigail Rudibaugh
Mountain pose took a full ascension to reach.
Both kids dressed, fed, doors locked,
seats buckled, caretaker swap,
left me tiptoeing into meditation.
But here I am showing up, unfolding my mat,
joining the class with arms reaching out
my palms turning up as I surrender
all the things I did not do right.
What a luxury to indulge in the responsibility
of finding where my body feels tense.
My toes sink deep into the black vinyl
as I plant my left leg. My little toe bubbles
under the new weight my right leg gives it,
rising strong and hips evening.
I watch my footprint fade back to the surface
like wet sand on a beach at low tide.
I am proud of my self, of my stance,
of my mind clearing up enough to hold this.
I close my eyes, hands to heart center,
body bent in warrior pose. Strong.
I lower my legs to forward fold,
up to mountain pose, arms outstretched,
palms surrendering yet again as I fold
with my left leg lifted. This time content
expecting the print I made to dissolve again.