The Yoga Class
Stretched arms, hands,
fingers upwards, heads erect
as if pulled by string to heaven’s sky.
Legs taut, knees bent
in stillness with breath
that marks time, one, two three.
In slow motion, their graceful moves
to music soft and low, alongside flickering lights
that paint the floor.
And I – and speckled sunlight
from dusty windows,
look on in silence.
* Gloria Watts lives in the UK. She is a retired college lecturer, many of her short stories and poems have been published online.
