The instructor tells me to
“lean into the discomfort.”
I’m not sure what that means but
in Bakasana, my nose
is two inches from the ground.
Sweaty fingers grip the mat,
my forearms quiver. I am
more of the crow, not the crane.
My elbows bent, crouching and
trembling, while graceful cranes float
their arms stretched, legs hovering
and faces dipping forward
as if they are submerging
thin beaks into tranquil pools.
Although I’m not skilled enough
to dive and soar in crane pose,
my toes begin to peel off
the ground. Just for a moment,
I am balancing, flying
two inches high, in crow pose.