Mind Body Falling
My thoughts skid out of icy ruts, fight
to stay in the race, then slip with bare feet
on wet tile and crash on my sacrum.
But when I miss the bottom steps
of my childhood front stoop,
my mid-life body like a dancer falls,
all breath and no bone,
a handmade quilt she folds
down to earth in flow.
My mind doesn't trust without railings
but my body, she knows to be soft with gravity,
her limbs land on stone slabs
a starfish on sea bottom.
I love how she meets the foot loose edge –
dripping with surrender.
Lisa Meserole teaches music and movement to young children in Connecticut. This summer she will be one of the Edwin Way Teale Artists-in-Residence at Trail Wood. Her poems have previously appeared in Connecticut River Review, Earth's Daughters, Green Hills Literary Lantern, The Healing Muse, Illya's Honey, and Shot Glass Journal.