Little God Attends Community Beach Yoga
I learn about letting go
from white people chanting om.
If I watch the ocean in downward dog,
the birds stand single-legged,
resting between bursts of sky.
If I don’t, carpenter ants find us
this side of the dunes. Meanwhile,
the clouds smack their gum, whack
open the shutters of rental homes
to reveal seashell art, soft blue couches,
cartoon white bottles, single-use
soap coins, stiff hand towels,
a guest book full of bleached pages.
Then, they set me loose
in the Gulf, waving their sails at my farewell.
It only makes sense to head home fast.
A nice sound, home.
Wonder what language it’s reminding me of.