I want to sing for you.
I know it sounds crazy
and the hills and prairies
of Southern Illinois
seldom echo
with the soaring melody
of voices raised
in jubilant song.
But the whippoorwill sings here
and the spring peeper sings here
and so do I.
You are Goddess incarnate
and when I stand before you
and look into your eyes
I long to kneel at your feet
in praise of you.
Goddess, you are mother of life.
Your firm, fertile, fiery flesh
has born the fruit
of a new generation.
As you hold your child
close to your chest
I see in your eyes
that she is your world
and I know in my heart
that you have earned
the title of mother.
Goddess, you are healer of wounds.
When you lay your hands on me
I feel your warmth
flow through me
and I feel the heat of my inner fire
rising to meet it.
You stand as strong as a mountain
in the presence of your students.
Your lithe body
folds and unfolds
like a lotus blossom.
Your keen eyes
examine the alignment
of our muscles and bones.
Your warm voice
guides our movements
and washes away our pain.
Of course, even a Goddess
has her flaws.
Your yoga is your magic
your way to play
with the fire of the Goddess
and sometimes
when you step off the mat
the fire dims
and your eyes
grow dull and glassy
and your voice
rises with false cheer
or stumbles and fades
into silence.
In these moments
you’ve held me at arm’s length
preferring the company
of your old ball and chain
or your new flame
because even your keen eyes
couldn’t see past the illusion
of my aching flesh
to discover a lover
whose inner fire
burns so brightly
that holding it back
for even a moment
leaves me burning alive
and letting it flow
for even a moment
lets me rise from the ashes
like a phoenix in flight.
Now that you’ve shed your chains
you’re taking flight too
and I hope that one day
we can soar through the sky
together.
But even if we never do
the flame of my devotion
that was kindled years ago
and still shines true
will always burn for you.