Poem Composed While Doing A Headstand Poem by Maggie Sawkins

The fir cone I picked from a Corsican forest
carried across an ocean
nestled between balls of socks,
has fallen from the grate and rests
where it meets my gaze as I pose
upside down in my daily practice.
I notice how it makes the perfect mandala,
its curved wooden petals
its skirt of hearts,
and in the moment after chanting
my thoughts thin and clear as tinsel
I wonder how, each year in the dim days
before Christmas, I have the gall
to consider spraying it gold.