Archives for posts with tag: yoga

by Beth Copeland

Lying on the yoga mat in corpse pose,
I want to levitate above all suffering,
to return to a summer long ago when
I lay flat on my back in a turquoise pool
with eyes closed. The swim instructor
said, I’m letting go but you won’t sink.
When I opened my eyes, white clouds
billowed like the bleached sheets Mother
hung on the line to dry above fresh-mown
grass and clover or like a flock of sheep
grazing on a muscari-blue pasture of sky.

Lately, I don’t know if there’s any hope left,
if there’s a lifeline reeling us back to shore
or only a frayed rope pulling us farther out
to sea. But as I deeply breathe, I become
a child again, eyes open to heaven, held
on the water’s shimmering surface, adrift
in that moment of wonder when we know
nothing is holding us up and we float.

“Shavasana” was previously published in Blue Mountain Review, June 2021.

ART: Public Pool for Daytime Swimming by Joyce Kozloff (1984).

NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR: I wrote this poem during the early months of the pandemic. I was doing yoga at home, focusing on deep breathing to calm my mind and body. It reminded me of learning to float when I was a child. I remembered looking up at the sky as I floated on my back, a pleasant, calming memory.

Beth Copeland

ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Beth Copeland is the author of Blue Honey, 2017 Dogfish Head Poetry Prize winner; Transcendental Telemarketer (BlazeVOX, 2012); and Traveling through Glass, 1999 Bright Hill Press Poetry Book Award winner. Her chapbook Selfie with Cherry is forthcoming from Glass Lyre Press. She owns Tiny Cabin, Big Ideas™ —a retreat for writers in the Blue Ridge Mountains.

Clean up on aisle . . .
by Bridget Harris

All days
make me feel bad
for existing.

Like are white claws really an essential item?

I am glad
to be wearing
a mask.

It will disguise
the embarrassed look
on my face
as I walk up
to the check-out counter.

The least I can do
is smize
at the grocer
who has
probably been dealing
with people
like me
all day.

I ask how his day is going so far . . .
He says:
well an hour ago
somebody came
into the store
set up a yoga mat
and started
doing yoga
in the middle
of the aisle
so I had to say
excuse me, ma’am, uh,
you aren’t allowed to do yoga in Jewel-Osco.

I tried to make his day.
He just made mine.

PHOTO: From the book Yoga and the City by Alexey Wind, available at 

NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR: Like many, I have tried to “get through” this pandemic. And yet, in my effort to “get through” it, I often forget that other people are experiencing this period of time in a completely different way than I am. Most of my days are full of the same monotonous nothing, but I am grateful for the people who grace me with their presence and surprise me. This one is for the grocer who rang me up at Jewel-Osco. May everyone reading this experience a moment of sonder for someone else that you encounter. Their day was in fact different than yours.


ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Bridget Harris is an actress, writer, and creator born and raised in Las Vegas, Nevada.  Now in Chicago, Illinois, she believes the future of art is collaborative, paying artists equitably, uplifting untold stories, and recognizing our shared humanity. Visit her on instagram: @b_frances_h and @yourqueenscratch