::

I am feeling restless and angry. This is not a poem.

I am feeling not restless or angry. I am feeling a dragonfly sitting right on my left ventricle and every time blood pulses through those flaps in my heart, then his wings quiver. He is full. His wings are big and bigger.

Yesterday I cut fresh mint from the garden, steeped it in warm water while the train-songs crept in from the open back door. There was a tone in them so they sounded like my phone ringing and ringing and ringing and ringing and ringing. You were not calling. Portland is so many boxcars away.

Tonight I read an article about sea turtles in the Smithsonian. They are turtles washing up in Maine, and they have hypothermia and retired people wander the beach, scoop them up, and rehabilitate them in order to reintroduce them into the wild. The turtles spend weeks or even months sometimes in little turtle fridges, slowly warming their internal temperature. They are given daily doses of antibiotics and supplements to keep them alive and healing. Then they are let free. They have been doing this for years. Since the 80's. Finally, last year, a turtle they tagged was spotted nesting in Mexico. That means that for 30 years they have been saving turtles, working diligently at warming them up, sticking tiny turtle thermometers up tiny turtle asses without any hope or proof of success. Who knows what happens to those turtles once they are set back in the bay. And I am eating a shitty dinner and reading this magazine and I love turtles and I love people who love to help turtles, and I love hope too but I can't help but recognize that these sea turtles are getting free health care. Turtles. Free Health Care.

After dinner I plucked around on the ukulele and tried to sing a song about Free Turtle Health Care. I ended up accidentally and VERY unintentionally sounding like Jewel. So I was upset about that.

Now I am trying to figure out just how many boxcars are between here and portland, but the internet is running so slowly. And time is still just ticking on. I am still not in bed. I am still not any good at the piano.

180,942. about. as the crow flies.

There was a dead bird on the street, just tail feathers left. it must have dove down hard like it was reaching for something more.

I don't want to bug you with all of this.

Yesterday I cut mint out from the garden. Steeped it in warm water. Listened to the train-songs sing my telephone ring. This dragonfly sits on my heart. I felt his wings quiver just now. I do not know what he is waiting for.

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