Shavasana

By:Gabrielle Wong

I am doing good. I stretch out good like a slinky, one push and I’m tumbling down the stairs over under. Downward dog. Tell me how to gold-medal yoga and I’ll do it—I’m all-American, baby! In the morn ings

I wake up fifteen minutes earlier to thaw my coffee.

In the mornings, Patience wakes up and shovels snow for fifty minutes. She tells me yoga is listening to what your body wants. Freezer-burned fingers, teeth seek adderall on tap. I tie tea bag strings around coffee filters. Good enough, I am doing good enough. The heron says one fish at a time.

I weave feathers on fishing lines one by one. Algae farm bristles, I’ll chase you with fingers green & slick; is that crooked and alien enough for you? Hot dog lunch break, pass the relish. Chili sauce soggy bread. I know what’s up. I’m all-American, baby. Tiger moms say that gets you the blue ribbon these days. Spinal fluid spa brain bath, 1 hour, essential oils.

I cut on the dotted line. Valerian voucher. The heron lays on a plastic jumble of wires & down. Shavasana.