ASANAS
by Traci L. Slatton



My hat warned of twisting postures
breathlessness
an old rag, really, but after a quarter century
imbued with my fondness.
It was suddenly gone, vanished 
as if it had never been yet it was 
full of my cranium, and my hair, and various 
dreams that had rattled through while it wore me


A pair of sunglasses featured 
in favorite photos, me kissing my little daughter
growing in front of my eyes
asking to board away at a distant school
posing
next to my friend the blonde Countess
she of evanescent visits

All that is 
transient
even my yoga 
studio closed, the community
and the classes I enjoyed
the shala of my heart
a pair of suede boots my husband bought me. Will I ever find 
them again?
all that is 
ephemeral
like the close touch of a mate who has shed 
himself
over another woman,
younger than me,
and that faith misplaced
along with haberdashery and footwear and other 
miscellany, even people. 


Another warrior, a longer dog, a deeper backbend 
to open my heart.
I move through until the body trembles denying 
myself reprieve.
It is loss that is union.

Traci L. Slatton

Author Traci L. Slatton is a graduate of Yale and Columbia, and the award-winning, internationally published author of a dozen books of fiction, poetry, and non-fiction.

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