I don't have a dog and I don't smoke but my yard is filled with cigarette butss and dog shit. Snow melted, leaving the yard covered in sand and shit and somebody's broken trash can. Wednesday at least, trash day, fill the broken barrel and set it out.

I've been finding new uses for baby food jars. Good for trapping pale spiders. Good as shot glasses. Good for keeping things one shouldn't keep. Half the jars get cleaned, thrown in the drawer near the cat food. Half the jars end up in the recycling. One jar is open on the table on the deck, spider web down the center.

Being an expert starter I am trying to become a better finisher. My daily lists have turned to catalogs of projects I have started already. Finish blue sweater. Put laundry away. Finish paying bills. Clean up from previous projects. Yarn toys sand dishes clothing papers books music.

I have letters to write.

At the desk, preregistered, wrong day wrong date wait they'll take you they have you for today down there at down the hall at the desk Hello. Sit down get up dressing room take your purse. Shoes and socks and underwear on everything else off this one ties in the ack and this one goes over it. Sign here not pregnant ask about nursing cover ovaries lie on the table quick picture step outside wait here.

New room stand against the table on its end vertical drink this thick chaulky salty crystals on top like drinking sharp pop rocks tastes like the smell of plastic dolls one big gulp adjust lead cover breathe deep now stop breathing deep breath in table tilts back stop breathing turn to the right breathe stop breathing. On the table now horizontal turn left breathe drink this thinner strawberry flavor still chaulky still thick lying on my side stop breathing take another sip breathe again now stop.

Sit up body heavy chaulky mouth chaulky lips swing legs over find step stool. Dressing room clothes on tights and skirt and shirt and coat. Out to car and go.

There’s always too much of something and tonight I’m afraid it’s me. Winter won’t end and I don’t know what I’d do if it did. Spring is rebirth full of new and I can’t let go of the old. Old and dead ideas. Old and dead hellos. Old and dead goodbyes.

The tide is turning. The tide is always turning. Trust me, boys. What’s low now will be igh again.

Dreamt last night of an over-educated friend breaking off an engagement. Standing on the rocks overlooking the harbor, shirt off, but with cuffs and collar remaining. A stronger figure than I had guessed and, in the sun off the water, shining. An embrace somehow maternal, then confessional, then baptismal.

Move to a house along the beach, water rising, waves crashing. Waves pouring themselves over the rail of the porch and in the waves seals swimming in and out, bumping against me as I cling to the rail.

Water rushing out, seals gone, me going out with them and not by choice. Strong arms (whose arms?) hold me back and all this time the sun has been shining.