Hips - Pigeon Pose

Yoga teachers frequently say that your hips are a reservoir for pain. Like a bowl, they hold the residue of trauma or periods of intense stress. When I feel the stretching pain of a pose like Pigeon or Frog, I imagine the hurt is the feeling of the trauma slowly slipping out of me. Boiling over. Letting go.

My hips, sticky from sitting at a desk for hours, finding the perfect word.

My hips, tight from sitting in the car to go somewhere hard. Escaping to the car to go home to a different kind of hard.

My hips, tense from sitting in an uncomfortable chair, holding a child asleep at my breast, while he told me he'd need more, more, more money if he was going to leave. Feeling afraid he'd never leave, but also afraid he would leave, forever.

My hips, holding in the desire and letting the desire go.

My hips split wide to birth my children. Thrust up to make love.

My hips, crouched in pain when I learned my lover was unfaithful.

Between my hips, bleeding without understanding.

My hips, sitting on the floor, watching the things I shouldn't.

My hips in cheerleading splits and cartwheels while the people were watching, but not the right people.

My hips, growing round, sitting in a classroom.

My hips carrying me - running as fast as I could, but it was never fast enough.

My tiny ballerina hips, legs extended above my head.

Hips rolling down the hillside, covered in grass stains.

My hands holding my own feet, hips akimbo, and staring up at the ceiling, the lamp, the fan. Her face, scowling.


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