“Pretty”
“Pretty” reminds me of piano keys.
Of summer evenings,
when the air kisses your bare
shoulders as you lounge on the porch,
with a glass of no-longer-cold iced tea.
It reminds me of lace
against a bare throat,
delicate and soft and
fluttering with every breath you take.
Of footprints
in the bare sand of a beach,
right before the foam smoothes it clean
again.
“Pretty” reminds me of a million things:
a million moments of
ethereal,
gauzy,
unfulfilled possibilities.
It’s like the time I stood
naked
in front of the mirror at home,
and
wondered how a person
—such as me—
is allowed to
exist.
“Pretty,”
but not
“beautiful.”
| 
Email this Poetry
| 
Add to reading list
