I think the invitation is to bow, I said.
I was, of course, thinking only metaphor.
But the next day I found myself
in bowing class—a well lit room
with a maple floor. The teacher
had an accent and I knew
that she meant business.
We bowed to the center, bowed
to the side, bowed with our heads
and our backs and our ribs,
bowed from standing, bowed
while seated, bowed on our knees
and bowed on our bellies. Every cell of me
bowed and bowed and bowed
and bowed until I puddled
on the floor. Today, every muscle
aches with the memory of bowing.
Some voice says to me, there has
to be another way. And another voice
says, oh darling, can you bow
to the ache? Here, I will show you how.