In the mornings after I shower I walk naked to my bedroom and fold into downward dog and into plank and do 20, 21, 23, 25 pushups. I try to keep my shoulders pulled back and I try to focus on one point on the floor because I fear I’m going crooked-eyed and I try to make sure I can hear my breathing do decent laps. After my push ups I go back to downward dog and bend into child’s pose. The movements fall into the narrow mirror standing against wall behind me. between the thick black frame and below cracks that start three quarters the way up, I watch.
I see gravity pulling the most it will to make little pyramids of my breasts. I see my ribs, my soft stomach, shallow valleys and hills. I see my vagina, lips in length and seeming three layers deep. I see the mauve furthest inside. I see my anus and cheeks, the creases at the tops of my thighs. Those funny soft resident hairs. The shape of this peaceful position and the glory of these scenes foreign and illegitimate for most of the years. The bright light through the early window reflects on me from the mirror.
In praise and practice, I lean down between my spread thighs with my arms far ahead. I open a shoulder to the right. I carry my arm with as much force forward as its arch up and back. straight straight straight straight until it opens my chest towards the loft. My neck turned, my hand reaches and rests against its lower comrade. without effort my feet lie in position so poetically and raw, and I cry.🝏