Child's Pose

In my earlier years of practicing yoga,  I always thought that starting in child's pose was wrong as I thought of it as something that had to be earned. 

Earned by doing the hard work, creating the shaking limbs, the prickly heat traveling down the spine and heating up the back. 

I don't think this way anymore.

Learning to start the practice in extended child's pose, which is both a stretch and a surrender, was very important for me because it was a dawning.

Sometimes, the surrender is the hard work.

Sometimes we need to stretch ourselves to reach the place that says this is too much 

or 

I need to slow down 

or 

I need to admit some truths

or 

I need to just go low 

low

low

with only me 

and my breath 

and my forehead as firmly pressed onto the ground 

as my knees 

and my toes 

and my palms. 

Sometimes our hardest work is the restorative work. 

Sometimes what it takes for us to stop all that we are doing requires so much more strength than the 

go

go

go of our lives which just strips us of our energy. 

It might not be 10,000 steps a day 

or

it might not be a two minute plank 

or

a from scratch meal 

or 

attending every meeting 

or 

saying yes to every plan 

or 

saying yes every time you are asked if you are OK. 

What it ends up being is our humbly realizing that we need to be understanding of ourselves

and of our bodies 

and of our brains

and of our thoughts 

and of our hearts. 

We need to be understanding what a real, 

deep breath 

can do to start healing the places 

within us all 

that we allow the outside world to 

berate 

and 

consume.

My Name

I was named by my eldest brother; my mother no longer fathomed a girl on the way after her four boys.

I was named Kate and then quickly given the formal name Kathleen to make certain it didn’t become Katherine, a name of someone who made my mother feel unwelcome.

I looked up the meaning of my name, both Kate and Kathleen, when I was working at a bookstore during graduate school. The personalities attributed to each name were different and all suited me well.

My last name, something I have always loved, I gave up for my marriage as it was one of the very few musts my husband ever had. 21 years later, and our musts no longer compatible, I have reclaimed my original surname and, my goodness, it fits.

It isn’t the same fit as before, and I have to get used to its fabric again. 

I do love it.

It is mine and I don’t have to replace it, ever.

Though it no longer matches all of my children, I already haven’t matched names with everyone in my home for a few years. And though I won’t share a name in my home as I have before, I share everything that matters the most.

I love their names. Don’t think for a minute that I don’t.

And.

I love having my name back around me, matching my brothers and my mom.

The staccato that I always relished has returned to me; two strong, single syllables. 

OneTwo.

Kate Burke

That’s me.

(photo credit, B who loves to steal my phone and captures some authentic me-ness)

 

6th Grade Poetry Unit, AGAIN!

It is Spring and I am back in the middle school after taking a year in the little grades. And while a handful of students in each class will moan when the poetry unit comes around, I get out my handy-dandy pencil and notebook and I write write write.

Limerick

There once was a mom who was cross

Took kids’ behavior as a loss

She sighed and she pouted

She cried and she shouted

Which only made her feel more cross.

Simile Poem

My pencil is like a tongue

because it says what my brain thinks

and cuts through to the quick with

quips that can make you feel like

you took a licking.

It is vulnerable to the teeth

and it can wear itself out with

the need to repeat a message

over and over to make its point

(dull point)

clear.

So Much Depends, Inspired by WIlliam Carlos Williams

So much depends upon

someone saying, 

“Hard is okay.” 

and being there 

in the hard

as they are

in the easy.

So much depends upon

leaving a warm bed

only to

grab a cup of coffee

and climb back in

to the still warm bed

in one’s own space.

So much depends upon

the assumptions

being untrue

and reality

being everything good

because that reminds me

that my gut

is a gift.

Metaphor poem based on an age

23 was freedom

walking 

at all hours

being 

where I had to be

and 

where I wanted

New York City 

was

writing, learning, feeling,

and

desiring, knowing, living

and 

earning a masters degree

City living is

dreaming 

of my youth

no longer a likely option

because 

dreams aren’t for now

Cookie

The 

sun 

is 

the

belly 

of 

a 

cat

soft 

and 

warm

and 

as 

I 

put 

my

face 

nuzzled 

deep

in 

the 

fur

I 

tip 

my 

chin 

up

taking 

every 

ray

I 

can 

hold 

upon 

my 

cheeks.

Inspired by Clint Smith’s Something You Should Know

Something you should know

is when I was a child,

ready for happy and laughing and hugs,

I was teased for how I looked.

I was teased because I was overweight.

And even though I grew up

and I grew thinner,

I never stopped being fat in my mind.

To this day 

I can love fiercely,

make others happy,

laugh for an hour straight

and feel successful in my life.

But.

The first quiet moment of introspection,

I will call myself the names from my childhood.

I will find fault in my appearance and

discomfort in my skin and

wonder why anything else matters

when e v e r y t h i n g else matters

so 

much 

more.

But.

Imprinted in my animal brain

is the importance,

my importance,

that only exists in my physical appearance

because that was the noise 

that was carved into my thoughts.

And I may never be cured.

Because words matter.

And you should know

to choose your words.

Wisely.

Kindly.

Or maybe not at all.

Haiku

The buds will soon bloom

And with it comes a promise

That what blooms will die

Water in the woods

Dries after days of sunshine

No more Buddy baths

There is a sweet spot

That lies between warmth and bugs

I take my long walks

Daffodils are here

Announcing the loss of Da

His most loved flower

The cats dash outside

To hunt chipmunks, mice, and birds

Leaving me dead gifts

I open windows

My dog barks incessantly

I close them again

Passenger

I miss being the passenger in a car some days. 

I have always loved watching scenery pass by. 

I never mind a bus trip or train trip anywhere, 

enjoying it more than a flight. 

I just let my mind go as I take in the world 

that I am passing through.

The other day I swerved noticeably on the road 

trying to finish looking at a house that had 

added on or taken down a tree

or some shrubs. 

I wasn’t finished looking

and I had to be finished looking.

I was the driver, 

in charge of direction and safety and momentum.

I had to look forward.

Sometimes that is tiring. 

Sometimes I want to close my eyes 

or write something down

or finish thinking through a scene I passed. 

Sometimes I don’t want to be in the car. 

Sometimes I don’t want to move.

Usually, though, I am happy to drive. 

It is the best one-on-one time with my children. 

Looking into their minds with what they share. 

Looking into their hearts with what they don’t share. 

Into their nows and their futures and their pasts. 

Helping them by driving them,

literally and figuratively,

with the love to hear and the time to listen.

And when I am alone in the car

I can think

and sing

and wonder

and have a private phone call.

Sometimes, though, I wish that I was in the passenger seat.

My head grows heavy from so much life.

I would like to turn and say,

“I am glad you are driving” 

or

“Thank you for driving”

or

I'd place my hand upon the driver that would say both

and maybe more.

Also,

I have never been so happy to be the driver in my life.

The Star Was Placed

The star made it to the top. 

It flopped over, 

lacking perfection, 

lacking precision. 

Just right.

I had begun to address the elephant in the room 

when my son took the star from my hands, 

as if waiting to hear the starting bell,

and began his haphazard placement. 

And when he was stopped by the others, 

reminding him to trim a bough 

and to place it more centered, 

(all good ideas)

all of that happened, too. 

It just remained off kilter 

and eventually tipped itself way back, 

exhausted.

Now a new year begins

with easy,

with awkward,

with tricky,

and with health.

We are here for it all.

We are here.