Mindfulness – a poem by Rita Moe


Taste of salt on your fingertip 
delicate tap of your forefinger 

on the crusty contours 
of a crumb of toast 

the mystery of adhesion, 
defying gravity, hand and crumb rise and

you remember close-up 
of a gecko’s green foot pads 

on a pane of clear glass 
and, looking closely, the photographer 

and her camera reflected upside down 
in the gecko’s round bulging eye 

how as a girl you looked sideways 
into the bathroom mirror marveling

that even the far reaches of the room were visible 
& how did Alice climb into that other world? 

& what does my counterpoint grimacing, 
grinning, sticking out her tongue in perfect 

synchrony think of me? which is to say 
how effortless  to fall down a rabbit hole… 

Do not chastise yourself for failure again 
to achieve perfect mindfulness

as, unbidden, a morsel has risen, has arrived—
the taste of cinnamon on your tongue.  

Rita Moe’s poetry has appeared in Water~StonePoet Lore, Slipstream, and other literary journals. She is the author of two poetry chapbooks, Sins & Disciplines and Findley Place; A Street, a Ballpark, a Neighborhood.  She has two grown sons and lives with her husband in Roseville, Minnesota.  

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