First Essay
This rice paper could’ve been
a permanent cover for the
windows on the stairs
in our house in Portland.
But I didn’t put it up.
I saved it for this.
There I needed to see
THE MOON. When I saw
it I realized how long
it had been since I saw
it; how important it is
to have moonlight once
a month. How months
would go by and you
wouldn’t know you hadn’t
seen THE MOON. Now, in
San Diego THE MOON shines
every month and the sun
every day.

From my car, I saw the
train I sometimes travel
on. It looked like a
TOY TRAIN
MOVING BY.
I could not believe it
was big enough to hold
me and the other pas-
sengers. I could not
imagine that I get in
and walk around
from car to car, that
I spend hours in there
sitting, reading, writing,
drinking coffee, putting on
my makeup. How could
I even get my head into
something so small?

My body is a crime scene.
There is evidence everywhere.
Blood running down the
inside of my legs. Blood
in my clothes, under my
fingernails, on the floor,
on the toilet, in the
seams of my jeans.
I have no secrets; I
cannot hide it.
I must be this way.
There’s nowhere to
go to get away
from my blood.