Grass Yoga

Poetry by Sara Hailstone

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​filling out my space
in the delicious stretch 
of a downward dog, 
 
I look over, 
she is also in a downward dog, 
pressing forward, 
lowering down, 
 
toes flip over, 
shoulders roll back, 
chest opens, 
 
I look over 
again, 
she is right there 
 
following along, 
parallel flow, 
usually I am alone.
 
I know then, 
be careful, 
she is imitating, 
 
watching and studying, 
analyzing and scrutinizing, 
loving and learning 
what is for her, 
what is not for her, 
 
this epiphany is 
motherhood.
 
This life is 
parenthood.

About the Writer

Sara's writing is born from navigating the raw and confronting connections that living in a small-town project by scouring collapsed domestic landscapes. She is an educator and writer from Madoc, Ontario who orients towards the ferocity and serenity of nature and what we can learn as humans from the face of forest in our own lives. A graduate of Guelph University (B.A.) and Queen's University (M.A. and B.Ed.), she has just completed her Masters in English in Public Texts at Trent University.  Instagram: @hamartiaandi