i've taken down the snowflakes and put up mod podge flowers all around the office. that must mean it is spring- by the orange light and the longer days. piles of snakes and turkeys with their feathers all spread out behind them. the yellow of buds erupts from the soil on the side of the street.

joyce arrives in new york early in the morning. she brings matthew and their suitcases battle for space on my floor. i play tour guide to a world i'm unfamiliar to: walk all day around fine art and end up in the baby section of the gucci store in the upper west side then to a delicious michelin star restaurant to finally collapse into my bed and watch christopher robin. the jonas brothers are main characters during this electric week. joyce makes everything feel like its really going to be okay, she has a validating way about her- a logical explanation for everything and if there isn't one then better avoid it. it feels right to bring close friends with new ones and have them mix seamlessly together. by the end of the week, joyce and jess are laughing together, as we take an adventure through icy central park where we climb up rocks and have a terrifying subway ride home with grey cardboard people and families who stare. wake up at 8 am to let matthew in and avoid all homework to run around. at billy's: africa by toto on repeat. oli and zeli and i discuss the emotional trauma of the notebook in the bathtub.

imagine all your gods and ancestors and ghosts as blades of a fan that is always on. sometimes, the fan is on a mode so you can see the blades move, can see what the effects are, and sometimes they are so fast that you can't see anything, but you feel the air anyway. our breeze is thick with spirits, perhaps. what if they don't come back to seek revenge or complete a prophecy but just because they miss blueberry popsicles or the warmth of the YMCA pool water in the mornings. my teacher says it took her a long time to feel comfortable in this body on this world, but now she is really going to miss sunshine when she is dead. 

all i know of connecticut is what i've seen from the bus, each town comes and goes with a cluster of buildings and one pointy peak of a chapel. then to andover and its history. one long house filled with people i love. the year is 1981 and eric is the best at trivial pursuit but i'm the best at ping pong (both controversial statements). maddie and margaret and i (sarah dipped out early as it was far too cold) walk around the wide block, pointing out the houses we love and the ones that feel wrong. there are many ponds we have to hop over. the sky is sliced open as we read poems from tom's book i am the poem. the church where my mother grew up, running around the pews with athena and reading poems written by my grandfather in a room full of his friends. in the BU bathroom, i smash a glass and clean up the shards as my car waits outside in the pink dusk.

obrigada, portugal. i make it. passionfruit mojito, dirt & cigarette smoke, white and blue tile & the yellow of the sun cutting through the buildings. jess's mother picks me up from the airport in a little pink bucket-hat. she is an amazing chef and we eat like kings. there is a hill next to corte ingles that overlooks the entire city- all the way down to the water, and we sit and watch the bees fly through the green of the grass. carly spends the entire time trying to get a bottle open and there is blood all over the blanket from her knuckles.a monastery from the 1500s next to a bakery from the 1600s. a beach next to a castle. they dance all night in lisbon. bairro alto is made of cobblestone streets filled with drunken people. they play toxic when we ask them to. a vineyard in zebreira with a pregnant cat and hours by the too-cold pool. wisteria and a wine tour- one baby goat, two peacocks, and three lemons. the next town over makes itself known at dusk by the bell of the church ringing out. there are windmills on the tips of the hills. in ericeira, a famous surfing town that looks so much like california it is startling, we sit next to the waves and peer at the moss. tomato flavored lays chips and chocolate. think of the pirates. jess and i follow music up a rickety staircase to a little room. neither of us can say no to a propped open door so we peak in and sit down on a couch to a band rehearsing lonely boy. it was our own little secret. a library with an old man in a crevice on the third floor playing the accordion. a market place under a bridge, with many secrets. egg pastries, laundry hung up to dry, sand in the sheets from days before: that is lisbon.but we're back. isabella has a cough that won't quit. i've watched the entirety of the new season of queer eye. i've painted under the sea on ella's floor and walked down canal street collecting items from accomplishing quests like an adventure video game. everywhere you look are huge dogs, and as we gawk at two the owner curses us with her witch powers. piano man on your left and anime club meeting on your right. anonymous love letter taped onto the front door and drinking peach juice from the carton.

we look at death all wrong nowadays. because of modern medicine and technology, it is seen as a failure, a loss of a battle. when really, its the most natural thing one can do. ("death isn't scary...its just embarrassing") i cook mac n' cheese with kiwi's grandmother in the depths of brooklyn. she irons her church skirt and gives me her homemade turmeric and ginger tea, and feeds me her favorite sweet bun she brought from jamaica. then, to my basement for a musical performance where both griffins rock out. carly and i go to church and it feels like a test that i didn't study for (everyone knows what to say and when to say it!) but it is an amazing experience. 

life is exploration. b a nobody.