Listening

I'm now a month and a half into practicing yoga, and I love it. I love how after a morning yoga workout I feel more energetic, centered and calm throughout the day. Much more so than I did with swimming, walking or running. Most of all, I love how yoga is helping me to be more still. To observe. To listen. This is really helping with my poetry, in ways that I didn't anticipate at all.

Just this afternoon I was watching Jimmy out the window. Last week he discovered two little boys who live next door, ages five and eight. Every day he's been out, climbing up the tree next to the fence so he can talk to them, and yesterday we finally went over to formally introduce him and ask if they can come over to play. This afternoon he was back at the fence waiting for them to come home from school. Just watching him got me thinking about what I have learned (so far, of course) from being his mom, and the words started to come: I was meant to be a son's mother.


Meant to Be

I was meant to be a son’s mother
meant to learn the art
of listening to both words and silence
of receiving unasked-for kisses when they come
of gentling a bird from among thorns
of finding quiet wherever, whenever it is needed
of being wrong, humble, grateful, unashamed
of answering softly every time I am asked
of bridling a horse’s will without subduing its spirit
of bending before a breeze, even a gale
without breaking.