Carribbean

animadi

Sweaty Yoga Spaces

I watched the sky turn pink as I stretched to the east
Further and further I released towards a brick wall.

The humidity drew us all close.
Snuck under our shirts,
Soaked our chests and ran down the length of our spine
Drops of sweat like fingers making you gasp upon contact.

Eyes wide. Undeniable to even the most unobservant.
Something. is. happening.
Someone is responding.

Me.

The wood, fuck, the smell of the wood floor made everything hotter.
The smell of cedar driving the unending heat.
I parted my mouth to pant just for a moment and suck the heat in as I lay back.
Awash in my heat.

Slick.

I licked the salt on my upper lip, immediately prompting me to reach out for an equally sweaty jar of water.
Moisture met moisture as I drank down deeply

I prayed to my tiny secret gods that I always remember the spaces and moments where I can make time stop and my hands can remember further than the places they are able to touch.

animadi

Sanctuary in the simple

Pleasure in minutes, moments, even morsels.
Pleasantries in teas.
Traveling to get the tea.
The halo of a street light on the way there.
The scent of the tea brewing.
That first sacred sip.
They push me through, past a deep nothing into wonderment.
I don’t wake when I should, so I stare and glory at a lamp.
My prayers are written in careful neat writing to all that is ordinary.
My shelves are tidy.
My hats are where they “should” be.
Tiny victories.
Invisible battles won.
Seeing the good.
I seek out  possibility.
I hold on to her fast.
I raise her from the dead when no light exists.
Every night requires incantation.
When my heart beats and I sweat, praying for sleep.
Sick with anxiety. Riddled with failure.
Dying for a rhythm that allows me to speak a language with those that walk illuminated by her light.
Me a mere shadow looming large
May I always find sanctuary in the simple