The Woman at the Y

I see her staring by the front entrance

when I join the long queue embracing rolled-up mats

within their taut arms and I look straight ahead,

like I’m not bothered,

like I’m unaware.

I feel her staring when the whale music starts

and we begin doing sun salutations.

Hazy light turns our feet into funny looking honey jars,

stretches our shadows along the hardwood...