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The Yearning to be Supple
Hips are the rain gutters of breath,
my yoga teacher says.
Where in the body, I wonder,
are grief’s rain gutters.
Can the heart beat it
out, lungs or bladder expel it?
Which part of me can I bend
into a sluice, sweating and straining,
to let sorrow slide through?
Make yourself soft,
the teacher tells me when I struggle.
She’s young and can’t imagine
I want to be soft the way
a drunk person is soft
when drink has made him oblivious
to what the world can do,
so the world can do nothing.
He can hurl himself head-on
into each inevitable tree and still manage
his jaunty stagger from the scene.
~ Francesca Bell
first appeared in MARGIE
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