A yoga poem

My palms meet at heart’s center.

In a butterfly’s brief landing
I set my intention
before my mind flutters away again,
unintentionally,
back to the street I grew up on.

Ocean breathing
over every memorized wave,
I flow along Edison Road
until I reach the Campbell’s house,

and pause in forward fold at the stop sign,
while the peacocks sing their sun salutation.

Half-lifting, my gaze softens
enough to see the roof of my house,
peeking up over the cornfields
that make the air thicken
with must and memories this time of year.

I mountain pose with the brushy foothills
before my practice takes me deeper.

Coming into warrior-two on my left-hand side,
I follow the mossy ditch down the driveway,
and inhale, arms up overhead.

I’m reaching toward the harvest sun,
just as I always used to,
when I climb the stairs to the fading deck
and exhale open the kitchen door.

And again,
stepping forward,

my palms meet at heart’s center.

Writing and photography by: Katy Claire Funke

16 thoughts on “Country road

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