Dreaming of Yoga
by Joan Mazza
I’m back at yoga class in Fort Lauderdale,
early, as usual, to stake out my place with a towel,
discover I’ve forgotten mine and choose one
from a closet—damp and flecked with glitter.
The phone rings and no one’s there to answer,
so I do, say, This is Joan, realize I should have said,
Yoga Today! in a cheery voice. The caller is distraught,
speaking in a code I understand. His wife is pregnant;
they’re pondering abortion. I tell him not to wait
too long, but don’t advise. What does your wife want?
He doesn’t answer. I’m sorry I’ve answered the phone,
am out of my league. When I turn, the whole class
has arrived. Someone has taken my space. The room’s
too crowded, the teacher/owner schmoozing,
holding forth with narcissistic nonsense tales,
not directing postures. He promises refunds
for everyone who stays, but not to those who’ve
left already. I want to leave! Here comes that old
dream cliché without lucidity. Where’s my purse?
The women at the desk won’t let me look inside
their cabinet, say it’s not in there. I don’t remember
where I placed it when I took that call. I step outside
to find large shelves with towels, clothes, and purses,
but not mine. They’re on the street, unprotected. Won’t
someone snatch a purse? Distressed, I wake. As usual,
I’ve identified another flim-flam and must escape. But
it’s just my daily Trumpmare. No need for alarm.
Joan Mazza has worked as a microbiologist and psychotherapist, and taught workshops on understanding dreams and nightmares. She is the author of six books, including Dreaming Your Real Self, and her poetry has appeared in Rattle, Valparaiso Poetry Review, Prairie Schooner, Poet Lore, and The Nation. She lives in rural central Virginia. http://www.JoanMazza.com