Sitting Pretty

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic

A poem about my very first memory - or perhaps a dream. An innocent and simplistically joyful place.

Submitted: September 09, 2018

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Submitted: September 09, 2018



Sitting pretty
in this place of light,
the sunbeams dance,
streaming to the corners
of the mostly vacant room.
All is doused in delicate white-gold.

And there I am,
loosely strapped
in a seat far off of the floor,
sucking blissfully
two small pieces of egg
from four tiny fingers.

Little hands now glisten
the same way the eyes do—
gaping pools of sky-blue innocence—
itent and focused,
but still glancing about happily
between nibbles.

There is certain peace
in each drawing of hand to mouth,
surely the taste of familiarity.
So carefree,
as warm droplets roll down fat wrists
into sticky puddles of joy and comfort.

This is a time
when each thought and worry
is as fleeting as the image.
But, the eggs, sitting pretty,
must be eaten,
before they are too cold.

© Copyright 2019 Jane Steward. All rights reserved.

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