wrapping my wrists
’round my ribs
cradling my moth-like torso 🦋
twisting my turning
writhing my learning
my body
one orbital ball and then another 🚀
letting my muscles fall
draping over like pie
sliding my way down
feeling un-even
in my doughy cheeks 🍑
//
a poem about a myofascial yoga class I took in Seattle where you use two small rubber balls to press into your muscle and connective tissue, essentially giving yourself a mini deep tissue massage with the weight of your body. My body felt uneven, one side hurt more than the other when the balls were pressing in making me very aware of how unaware I have been of the physical imbalance that exists within me. Perhaps due to sleeping on one side or just leaning toward the stick shift in Miata all the time. At the beginning of class, the teacher told us to use our hands and cup the bottom of our ribs – a strange action I had never done before. It really felt like I was cradling something fragile, with an up-and-down rythm that could be crushed so easily – I felt a vulnerability in the cage that housed my breath. The teacher mentioned the night before she was putting the crisscross crust onto a pie and imagined how she would like her body tissue to also drape like that which I found to be interesting imagery. Throughout class, we started at the top of our neck and slowly moved down our spines – and ended up at our fruity booties. 😊