The Story in My Spine

"The whole story is in the spine." Mary Oliver

The bones of the spine frame a tightly coiled roll of fibers. Alternative layers of fiber spin in different directions. They are spongy so if you twist to the right or the left in just the right way they wring out like a wet towel releasing its catch. Twist back to center and they are flooded with fresh ocean water. Over the years of bending, reaching, scraping by, the vertebra are pulled and pushed, cracked, crunched, loved, and misaligned and, in this way, come to embody the story of your life.

The story of my spine tells of the past, longing, vibrancy, surrender, and as much sorrow as joy (can there really be one without the other?) Stretching laterally towards the rope, my hips facing front, a ferret tickles out from the intercostal muscles of the right ribs. Push up into a back bend with firm hands and feet and a waterfall of tears slides in two directions down to the still pool below. Head to knee in a sitting position, my spine vibrates with the moon. In my final resting, over a bolster or chair, the pine releases her startling scent.