Spring Yoga - A Poem by Caryn Mirriam-Goldberg
Pre-Vernal Yoga Class
Look at the tips of branches: green buds almost ready
The grass newly shaggy. Bundles of miniature hands,
pale purple, just opening their palms into lilac.
The damp sky wants to evaporate itself pure blue.
The four women in this mid-day yoga class want
to soar into strong arrows and subtle warriors
but it’s still pre-vernal: everything, everyone
just on the edge of bursting out of the narrow shoots
of winter’s sharp metal to become bodies again.
Each breath, another space before space is filled out.
Each stretch, another breaking out of the singular.
Each bird landing, another scout for the flock to come.