52
The idea of Scorpion Pose sets off sirens in my cells.
My back writes ransom notes to my mind.
We’re holding your vertebra hostage. Give us your alignment, or else.
I ignore its demands. I will not negotiate with terrorists.
Carla and I are at a two-hour Sunday afternoon back-bending workshop at Serenity. Neither of us have been here since rediscovering Rhonda, but we’re still on their mailing list. Carla and I were at Starbucks, together, when our phones pinged simultaneously with notifications about today’s spinal intensive. Never mind our shared Kama disdain, there was no way either of us was going to miss this.
The 105 minutes preceding these final fifteen have been leading up to this arachnidian moment, wherein the sixteen of us assembled students will attempt this seemingly
