SandScript 2023 [Digital Exclusive]

A Little Piece of Eternity
Madeline Currah
I take my bike in my cold hands, and push
out into the street at dawn. There aren't
many cars out, and the empty streets seem
to me like vast, empty riverbeds of gray.
Crossing the biggest riverbed I will have to,
I embark on my morning journey. Above the
houses with their white stone and vines, the
pale moon shines her sweet face. No matter
how big, no matter how bright, she seems to
me always humble and peaceful, unaware
of her own enchantment. She only gives.
Her beauty is safe, untouchable: no one can
hurt, harm, sully her.
Yesterday I read a line in a book: “what
is it that is constant between you as a
baby, you now, and all the selves you
have been and will be? How do you know
you are the same person?” As I ride the
quiet, pink, dusty city streets with my
eye always on the moon, I feel it. I feel all
the times I've looked at the moon from
my bedroom window, or while laying
in the wet grass at night (distraught),
seeing her always there as I drove up
the highway every night headed home
from my first job. I remember her on my
18th birthday, shining bright and full in
the mountain wilderness. I remember
seeing her for the first time after months
of Alaskan day. Now, in the pink desert
dawn, among cacti and orange trees and
the smell of cow dung, I find her. She
brings together my past, present, and
future. She connects me to the long line
of changes I have been and will be. She
promises both consistency and change,
and the paradox of how deeply those two
are entwined.
The moon is my constant watcher, and
the only one whose promise of "things
will be okay" that I believe. Her sweet
promises fill me from the inside and
spill out of my body as truth. When I
forget myself, I should seek to find her.
Sometimes I think of life as one long,
continuous poem that never ends. I guess
this was just a little piece of it: a little piece
of eternity, brought almost into focus.
Berkeley
Watercolor on Watercolor Paper
Bianca Barrett
15