To the Cat Sitting Outside the Window of the Studio Where I Attempt Yoga

I see you, sitting comfortably, all four paws
tucked underneath your thin body
covered in fluffy fur
giving the illusion of plumpness,
but only masking beautifully the agile muscles
surrounding your petite frame.

Are you watching me?

I attempt downward facing dog, and
lift my leg into god-only-knows-what position, and
collapse into child’s pose.
My instructor has a soothing voice, and tells me I am doing well.
She doesn’t see you behind her,
resting on the other side of the glass door opening
to the outside where in Texas in March,
it is still cool enough to pretend
we are gurus on a mountaintop, perfecting an ancient practice,
channeling mystics and masters
we will never come close to imitating in
perfect form or achieved nirvana.

Clear your mind, my teacher says.
But I think about my boyfriend and last night,
And wonder if he means what he says to me
As we move in and out of our own complicated positions.

And I wonder what you wonder.
What’s on your mind, cat?

Extended cobra.

Are you watching me?
Are you content watching us contort our bodies,
roll our spines,
stretch our muscles
and our bodies
and our minds to their limit?

And now we’re moving into a position named after you, cat.
Do you recognize it?
Because here we are,
We with our first world advancements, innovations, and superior technology;
We kings of the food chain, nay gods of this world,
Imitate you,

small cat,

a god of the ancient world.

And I wonder what you think
As you slowly stand and stretch
(naturally, in the way your tiny body was designed to do).

The cat who was sitting
outside the studio where I attempt yoga
saunters off down the driveway,
through the grass,
to another spot of sun to take a nap.

And I lie on my mat, trying to breathe.