Box of pictures

I found a box of pictures I drew
when I was six

they are all of me
I know this
because the hair is yellow
the eyes are green
and there is always an arrow pointing to her

this is me.

The dresses are intricate
with waistlines that start at the neck
I can still feel the reverence
in those tiny flowers along the hems
the way my arms jut out in arches
as though I am carrying enormous loads
of invisible things.

But what strikes me the most about each portrait
is the mouth

an ardent smudge of colour
evokes the sense that life
is an absurd and wondrous romp.