Turning, Turning, We Come Out by Peg Duthie

Turning, Turning, We Come Out

During the anthem
my mind incessantly
knots itself over
the pose I failed
to hold during yoga

and through the next class
my mind keeps revisiting
how I ran out of breath
while singing
the anthem

but on the way home
I chant and croon
to frost-singed mums:
it’s not yet late
it’s not too late

by Peg Duthie

Editor’s Note: I am amused by how clearly this poem captures the frustration of the task at hand. It seems that whatever one is supposed to do is not the thing the brain will focus on at the proper time.

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