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On a pale marble fountain in Dubrovnik, I posed I pretended I too was a stone figure, water gushing from my smooth, full breasts A focal point in a crowded square of coffee drinkers and nuns, radiating from within I couldn’t wait for my vision of a woman to emerge In my grandmother’s wooded garden, I wore my red plaid dress backwards, playing at having a bust, three buttons undone My collarbones would be something beautiful, I knew Like me, my friends rehearsed womanhood One friend would lead me to her mother’s closet and pull out the silks and laces for us to wear Another drew a brassiere, stockings and garters on her Barbie doll Barbie and Ken slept naked I pressed them together and held them still I imagined this cool, dry embrace was the path to ecstasy The hair jarred me out of this fantasy I was dreaming in the dusk of a blanket fort, my arm behind my head Springing from my underarm was crooked, pale brown wire I felt too old for my t-shirt – painted birds in puffed, bright colours If I ignored the strands, would they disappear? My first menstruation came on Easter Sunday And the next at Christmas Then again at Easter, Christmas and in some years at high summer I felt connected to something great, God or otherwise, yet wanted nothing to do with the blood I wanted only to be an effigy Now, I tried to will it away I thought the dry time between bleeding meant I was succeeding ** My father and I hiked up the hill behind our house, past where the fires burned, past the horse stalls, past the fire roads and to the strip mall where I took karate lessons I felt strong, free, free again Free as one can only feel in suburban Los Angeles when one realises it is possible to live without a car I loved my breasts, small, nonetheless there, my strong legs The way the fabric clung to me, the yellow dust and sweat on my skin My