2021-09-14T19:45:27-07:00February 21st, 2012|Creativity, Musings on life|

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
with careful printing:

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 my life
as I reflected on it
when I drew these pictures,
must have felt to me
like the most free
and wondrous thing.

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