nonfiction

I met an angel.
I didn’t recognize her at first
Dense like porridge
slow, like cooking rice
It took forever for me to see her
for who she was

She was sitting on the floor
outside my classroom
You don’t have to sit there. Please come in
Oh, we’re not allowed to eat in the classroom.
I’m not gonna let you eat on the floor. Momma bear. If anyone has a problem with it, they’ll have to answer to me. All 5 feet, 2 inches of me.
She obliged.

She had a disability
It was the kind you could see.
Like unkempt hair and thick glasses.
I am not unlike her
Who am I fooling?
mine is like toilet paper
stuck to my shoe
but I’m on that
denial
the high of delusion

I was busy
tapping away, buried in
the so-called
important tasks.
but we struck up an awkward conversation anyway
remember, babe, this is the work. this. not that stuff on the screen.

I should’ve recognized her then,
but I didn’t
because my rice was still cooking
the old school way

Her hand
her voice
shook
as she showed me her writing
and it was good
really good
a book
a screenplay
a song
jokes
my god,  you are talented!
really? How do I publish my work?
in the plainest, unsuspecting package
babe, what do you know about ribbons and wrapping paper?

By now, there was another in the room
by all conventions
accounts
tall and beautiful
I felt her listening
watching us
this private moment
of vulnerability
now, between the three of us
what it means to be seen
Hi, Barbie <3

It was a creative writing class
I hadn’t known
This angel was so brave
She dared shame to just try
like Savio said, who gives a shit?

Can you try to be genuine
or are you just genuine?
the moment you try
you become disingenuous?

I thanked her for sharing
and found the stairwell blurry,
warm
And salty
When had I lost her?

I never got to thank her
For finding me
For seeing me
For daring me

You know what the most
wonderful smell is?
when you open the front door
and remember
the rice is done

This is about a student I met who inspired me. She would arrive early for her class, and hang out in the hallway, waiting for me to wrap up my class and leave so that she could take a seat in the emptied classroom. One day, I saw her eating rice while sitting on the floor of the hallway, so I invited her in. Though I was busy, she was eager to talk about the class she was taking and share her work with me. I realized I held some pretty damning assumptions about her when I read her work- it was incredibly creative, funny, poignant, and thoughtful. The other student who had taken a seat in the far corner would look up at us every time I remarked on the first student’s writing. She seemed to yearn for the same kind of genuine reaction- laughter, tears, a thoughtful nod. I learned so much in that moment, about them and myself, and they inspired me to restart my abandoned practice.