published in Volume 2, Issue 4 on July 27, 1995
Holding your baby-doll dress so as not to expose your skin, you stand at the prow of the ferry, knowing you are observed. There is about you a self-conscious posing as you stand and stare at the scene before you-- balancing the beauty against discomfort. I would not choose to stand so long, though I understand why you do. The scene almost demands this sacrifice of privacy as a declaration of fidelity. The winds whip around and across you, teasing your dress as your hand uncomfortably holds the skirt in place-- all the while trying desperately to appear casual as you do it. What right have we, the observers of observers, to allow such painful consciousness to mar the view?