Moving with mindfulness
around my hunger pangs, around that darn stopped-up toilet–
moving with mindfulness
through my chameleon emotions,
which sometimes drop me suddenly as from a great height
or sear through my body of nerves at the crunch of a toe
against a leg of the couch while I struggle with the vacuum–
moving with mindfulness,
I slither on my back, in my studio, like a cat rolls in the hot dust
and I notice what moves when I breathe:
What moves? Thoughts quiet into sensation… a stretch calls out.
A squeeze of grief surprises my throat… I cry a little.
And mindful of all these movements I make,
all these ways I slither upright on my hind legs with an apron tied around my waist
and my heart in my mouth and on my sleeve,
I remain
through it all.