My First poem about Lily

Lily Eating Strawberries (17 mos.)

At first she
gobbles them, you
slice each in-
to quarters
like the moon. Her
mouth open, a baby
bird's, waiting
for the next, too
eager to
use her hands.

Then fingers in-
terrupt yours, taking her
time, savoring feel,
movement, guiding her
hand to mouth, then
taste and nourishment. Sated.

Now the careful
pieces become more
experimental, devolve in-
to barely recognizable
shapes, squashed under
the shadow of her
curiosity, until
only red juice
remains.