Segmenting Syllables and Seat Work
Rocking back and forth,
I watch as these tiny people before me,
Lay scattered on their mats,
Trying to unwind after a,
Long morning of segmenting syllables and seat work.
Taking their tiny hands, into their hands,
Counting fingers and whispering the alphabet.
I wonder what each little mind thinks,
What kind of worries they carry on those small shoulders,
I giggle, as I look down at one blonde head,
Making little spectacles at me with her hands.
I am envious,
I, too, long for a grown up sized mat,
To spread out on and decompress.
I know that my worries would be much different than theirs.
These small children, like me, are restless.
Restless in a world coordinated to keep us on a routine,
On a path of responsibility and good deeds.
I smile soft,
As one little boy, and one little girl scoot closer to me,
Their bony knees wiggly and their hands in their mouth.
As an instrumental version of, “Somewhere Over the rainbow” plays softly.
Sadly, the only one relaxed enough to sleep is me.
I chuckle when I think of me at 5. I only remember one or two times I actually drifted to sleep.
The music progresses and bodies relax,
Less movement, and less sound.
The stories these boys and girls sing to themselves,