all the things i hold there

don’t tell anyone else
(meaning: other potential tea dates)
i joke with silke about
the french press of
too-strong very astringent
tea i steeped
to accompany the srpawling
snack spread
(goat gouda, apple slices, tangerine slices
hummus, rice crackers, slightly milk chocolate)
_______

i’m a believer in staying rooted
where you’re from silke says
_______

satellite-shuttled exclamations
about the first bald eagle sighting
of the season
(from a car just out of the canyon
on a norteño new mexico highway
to a couch
along a front window
in a living room in north portland
i don’t know where they migrate from
she says

_______
how today’s sun
makes biking any distance in this town
achievable/possible
from here i patch holes in my
mental map of portland
_______

turkey soup on the stove
paula gives as a reason
for returning and we slide our glasses
of tea across the table and take
sample sips of each others’
_______

noticing how both the woman
on her mat next to me and myself
wear a ring on chain draped down our necks
hers: wooden
mine: metal/silvery
_______
when the yoga instructor
says shoulder girdles
i want to cry
thinking of all the things
i hold in there
she also tells us
that we are the only country
that values/desires a flat belly
as opposed to other countries
that see it as a sign of well-fedness/fertility/abundance

_______

it’s like you’re living
outside of the matrix someone says
about my 2008 pink flip phone
that for some reason on these travels
has become a conversation piece
over and over again
_______

scent of sandalwoody (lavender) incense
seeping under the frank’s room door
while i couch-collapse, this week’s
mania finally subsiding
in the form of full-body exhaustion
_______

in the tune of i feel like makin love
gina, through the kitchen window,

sings i feel like yoga
referencing my classic rock
yoga-in-the-livingroom-in-underwear session

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Filed under daily practice, poems, poetry, writing

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