32 degrees Fahrenheit
They walk past in winter coats
and puffy gloves, raised eyebrows wiggle
In disapproval
It’s my backyard.
Tiresome, where is the stash of fucks to give?
My grey pullover and lilac leggings, checked a box
The fuzzy grip socks fit the weather, ignored on tea time chat
The juiciest bits reworked for scale
Keep the judgement at bay, idle minds
match the energy
For every opinion, I’d have a stack of bills
I unfurl my bright yellow mat, a daredevil
Place the navy yoga belt at the top, oh the Gail
And breathe, slow.
I kick my right leg back, hinge and pivot
sideways
into pigeon pose, holding
waiting for pressure
the release in gold
routine
keeps me grounded
As the earth spins on its axis
and people come and go
Tomorrow Echo says it’s 20 degrees
I’ll roll my eyes too
Layered Fragments, Becoming Whole 