Kristy Bredin's A Norman Rockwell Life
on the blue toilet,
surrounded by Norman Rockwell paintings
of Saturday Evening Post covers
that enrapture me every time I'm here:
To the right of me-
two boys and a girl playing marbles:
the boys look slighty confused,
the girl poised, on the brink of winning.
the lady in the green gown
sitting in front of her vanity dresser-
a mirror in front of her,
yet she looks to the right, vainly,
at her face
held in the mirror in her hand.
She strokes her red curls pensively
while a younger girl and dog
look on, unnoticed.
To the left,
two lovers are sitting in a carriage-
the man asleep,
the woman leaning on his shoulder,
looking at something
beyond the realm of the picture.
What is it that consitutes I
at age seven?
What is a mere "I" in this vast universe?
A being fading further into the background,
a speck in the eye of the earth,
a hair on the scalp of the US,
a scale on the fish of Long Island,
a ripple in the bay of Huntington,
a crack in the street of Polly Drive,
a child in house number 28,
in the upstairs bathroom
with blue and white papered walls
that support paintings of lives that are not mine,
yet I share them from my royal blue porcelain seat
as I let nature pass through me.