Westward


White box van
sails arrow highway
westward
New images flood the windows of our carriage
Lengths of land we’d never imagined
A great tusk arcing 
along the shore of the Mississippi
Red earth ripped open 
a sliver at a time
No words
just wheels hissing on pavement
Another move
We trembled
at our roots perhaps
though faces were poised
toward possibility.
The Pacific,
still, from afar
but Oh! the waves 
that would pummel us.
by
Barbora Bridle 
06/2011

Trikonasana (Triangle)

Like an ancient pyramid
solid and golden
aspiring to the heavens
I stand
spreading from foot to finger
an invisible lightning rod
a conduit
Life travels 
through its channels 
upward
outward
inward
Body and soul 
e   x       a            d 
to meet their Maker
at thousands of spaces
where subtle sparks occur
and I am 
according to ancient sages
aligned

I am healed
lifted from my contracted self
for moments,
breaths
until next time.