Pretty

My baby sister called me pretty today.

She grasped my tangled curls and watched with wonder as they slid off her palm.

Then she said, staring right at me, “Pretty.”

 

Oh baby girl, thank you.

It was a bad day, with the usual head-aches and peer comparison.

Yet, I forget it all when  you told me that.

 

I could have a thousand boys say it, and it would still not hold the meaning that it did.

Baby girl, you called me pretty.

 

And for a little while now, maybe I can feel it.

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