I taught yoga once
At a summer camp.
I was no expert.
Still
I could bend and twist,
Manipulate my body into shapes
I can’t imagine now.
I was a pretzel.
Edgy, salty, the kind sold by a street vendor in New York.
Supple, sharp, tangy mustard.
Today,
I’m a day-old bagel,
Round, stiff, tired.
Still
I show up.
I have to book my place in the class on an app
Where I’m waitlisted.
The instructor is non-binary,
Come in, come in, they call.
Room for everyone.
I roll in.
The space is warm,
I succumb to a new world
As they stretch and pull and shape me
Back to life.
Jacqueline McCauley
Jacqueline is a South African, Australian, New Yorker. She teaches English and drama and has a background in writing, directing, and producing youth and children's theatre. Her writing explores themes around immigration, cultural diversity, parenthood, divorce, disability, grief and loss, and the way we process these. Her writing has appeared in 'the prosepoem.com' and will soon appear in 'The Metaworker Literary Magazine'.