People are introducing new-to-me poets to me regularly and I love it. This way, I've read Mary Oliver, David Budbill, Naomi Shihab Nye, and now Danna Faulds. Faulds writes "yoga poems," which sounds limiting or even gimicky. But they aren't. I can't attest that they are great poems--I've never undertaken any academic poetry analysis--but I am touched by them. And even though I don't practice yoga, I can appreciate the focus on mindfulnessness and presence. I'm reading her Go In and Out: Poems from the Heart of Yoga, which I find inspiring, calming, and comforting.
It only takes a reminder to breathe,
a moment to be still, and just like that,
something in me settles, softens, makes
space for imperfection. The harsh voice
of judgement drops to a whisper and I
remember again that life isn't a relay
race; that we all will cross the finish
line; that waking up to life is what we
were born for. As many times as I
forget, to catch myself charging forward
without even knowing where I am going,
that many times I can make the choice
to stop, to breathe, and be, and walk
slowly into the mystery.