my sisters and I always called them
study muscles that place where
the shoulders meet the neck rounded
from hard work and big boobs
then there's winter
we huddle up in ourselves
and shivering keeps us warm
like sweating makes us cool
things the body does
without us
shiver sweat
breath heartbeat
><
In all the yoga classes they were teaching poses for heart opening
In all my dreams there was a pink mist like Judy Chicago's feminist fireworks in Prospect Park this time last year
I took off my pink-tinted sunglasses in the backseat of the convertible on the LA freeway only to see that the world was still pink underneath
><
How are we supposed to open our hearts
if spring keeps getting snatched away
How am I supposed to open my heart
in the last stretch the only sister left in school
How am I supposed to open my heart
after it stilled and froze down to its silty floor
><
pyrotechnics
sunglasses
desk
camatkarasana
><
for the first time
I don't want spring to come
though I know
it never happens all at once
ice floes
crack hiss moan drift
"open your heart"
hackneyed, emptied
and ridiculous
to have to be reminded
but anything can close it off
even a wild devotion
><
roll your shoulders back and look out the window
of a lamplit house at night
see your reflection stamped upon the sky
slaiiiiiin
ReplyDelete^what she said
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