A Wave of Breath

It’s sputtering, sputtering,
This material of our bodies.
It’s making mischief
of the kind wrought in the heavens.
The senses, the sensitivity, the sensibility
of mankind, the gods are jealous of.
Will these lines make parts of you
Contort and twist the way they do me
The way I want them to you.
Gifts. These are gifts these abilities
To change each other’s somatic environments.
You make my blood curdle, eyes shriek, veins burn,
And you hold my eye rivetted
Like a snake. Glued. Poised.
Waiting. Swooning. Wooing.
Being stuck. Sticking.
Eternal caresses in the shape of your palm.
Bring out the marigolds
yellow-orange flowers of dazzlement.
Allow them to shine, sigh, fulfill.
To become slippery
By choice,
As aspiration.
Let me slip, slide, taste, lick, glide.
Let me do once more what I have never done before.
Let me feel once more what I have never felt before.
Let me ask once more what I have never asked before.
For it is us and our bodies,
and the infinities we hold.
In each eyelid, each breath, each fold.
Cruising past the continents of our muscles,
Rowing into the depths of our bones.
Paddling into the softly lit pools of saliva
From a parted mouth.
The infinite precipice of the point where the upper jaw meets the lower jaw,
Plunging down, hovering at the very, very, very base of the throat.
Planting our flag in the soil of the abdomen. We arrive slowly but
surely.
A wave of breath washes over us.

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(Words liberally borrowed and inspired by my experiences in yoga, somatics, poetics, and
abhinaya classes at Abhyas)

Shachi Katira works as an expressive arts therapist with a focus on embodied experiences via
the arts and movement.