Bread Scattered Upon the Water
David B. Prather

—after Summertime by Mary Cassatt

When I choose to remember the past,
it is always summer, and I am always
             young. Sometimes
I am a dragonfly, a darter

that skims the surface of a pond and dips
into the water to see my touch
spread out in rings.
              Or I rest my glass wings

atop a weed stalk to let the sun impassion
              my long, thin body. Mostly,
I hover to hear the rasp of my wingbeats.
Once, I was even a mayfly,

but that memory is too short. Today,
I am a mallard among a paddling of pekins
ready for bread scattered upon the water
               by a woman in a red hat

lounging in the bow of a small boat.
Or by the girl in a pale blue dress
              with both hands relaxed at the edge.
The oar bobs in ripples, rubbing the oarlock

as we all drift. Afternoon sky
is clear and gazes at itself in the surface.
              I am happy
here at this border where air and water laze

              together in a long, soft caress.
A group of trees on the far bank darken
with shadows. Their reflections stretch out
as though they could reach these women,

find sustenance in their presence, knowing
              they will row away. I was sure
it would always be summer, and I
would always be young.

---

David B. Prather’s Comments

Obviously, this ekphrastic poem draws much inspiration from Mary Cassat’s painting, but it is also a meditation upon coming to grips with the myth of self, of origin. I was a late summer baby, and this poem is an attempt to explore how the self comes into the world, and how differing perspectives (drifting from dragonfly to mayfly to mallard to afternoon sky) can change how we view the world.

Table of Contents