The teacher
Her grey hair thick and spilling
Chanted Om in quiet room
Filling with vibration
The beat of our efforts
Twisting, turning against, Winter’s pinch
She places her wide palm
On my pain
We say nothing
The movement is our language
I see my thin arms
Draw in unknown strength
Holding me up, though I would lapse
I remember being seven
A year since my mother was gone
The door still too heavy to open on my own
Practicing in a room of adults
One lady had a long back and narrow waist
Another, cast her shoulders against
Cold draft of late arrivals
I was relieved to be
A child
Not yet held to standard, free to swap error
Watching others
Pile obligations on their shoulders like camels
Bending low to earth
Forgetful of the impulse
To stare into the sun
“She places her wide palm
On my pain
We say nothing
The movement is our language”
This is incredibly beautiful and intense at the same time. It reads like a life lesson, one many can benefit from. It’s amazing what happens when we lose ourselves in the things that are offered to calm us, provide strength, and understanding.
The photo is amazing too.
Reblogged this on cabbagesandkings524 and commented:
TheFeatheredSleep brings images and memory
Reblogged this on crjen1958.
The unforgiven power of a child’s mind!
Another stunning poem. I particularly loved the last two lines.
Lovely. This is one worth rereading several times. I especially like the last four lines.
The deepest things lie beyond words and touch can evoke them. This poem really speaks to this…. lovely <3 <3 <3
Your poem is so very lovely, it is like receiving a bouquet of beautiful flowers to begin a new day, that gives birth to many smiles on ones face! Have a wonderful and blessed Sunday!
So vivid – felt like I was there in the room, watching you and the other dancers. (The air was cold, wasn’t it?) Your memories, so powerful!
A sense of meditative calm taking you back
A reminiscence š
Another lovely, visual poem. And like a few other comments, I too, loved the last 4 lines.