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Sun Salutation

Sun Salutation

We breathe in Tadasana. Eight and a half months of yoga class has taught us to move in sync like swimmers in an Esther Williams’ number. My bright yoga pants and sleeves slice air as we Uttanasana

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and lunge, and you, submerged, stretch to Ravi Shankar’s sitar plucking melodies, which transports us to a place far from this basement that smells of curry and sounds of feet treading cobbled stone.

I can’t help but think of your spine curving like a little prawn’s in my womb when I Adho Mukha Svanasana. I began this class in fear when you were pea-sized, hoping flexibility would save my battered vertebrae as you grew, stretched me into motherhood.

We no longer Urdhva Mukha Svanasana; instead, we lunge, lift our arms in Salutation and fold our hands in Prayer at Tadasana. We wait for classmates in Balasana to catch up, and I’m joyful I can no longer see my toes―almost time. Impatient, you kick my abdomen.

You’re happiest when we move, don’t press on my lungs or bladder then, my breaths circulating our bodies in a quiet, dim hour when all we have to do is Surya Namaskar in coordinated rows, our hearts beating in warmed bodies, both anxious for your coming.

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