backbend

to do a backbend
the body must agree in three places —

core and hips
lifting toward flight,

legs
holding the earth steady.

my arms
are the weakest.

i dream of backbends
in the backyard,

grass cool under my hands,
bones softening

loosening the tension
caught beneath the ribs.

movement teaches me
what worry never could.

something holds me there
in the arch —
pushing me back
into myself,

bending what was once true
into another shape.

i imagine
untwisting the yarn
of connective tissue,

thread pulled slowly
from the body’s quiet knots.

the body —
a miracle form
that is not my favorite.

I wouldn't choose it again.

or maybe
it is the box around it we were placed in. .

we grew up believing
the reward would arrive.

instead
we learned to want more things —

objects
bright enough to hold us captive,

instead of the long kitchen cord
stretching across the room,
a voice to the wall.

my neck aches
from looking down. 

shoulders folding inward,
spines bending
toward the small blue light.

i want a world
where everyone remembers
how to fall backward —

hearts opening to the sky,
chests lifting,

heads tipped upside down
toward heaven.

my hair would touch the grass.

the bones soften there.

words soften too.

something new
presses against the skin —

a second head
learning the courage
of being inverted.

longing 

in this inverted world —

to fall backward

and trust

the sky will catch me.