and I came to Belfast to learn military time because it’s better for figuring out how long it will take to adjust. The bigger numbers take off some pressure. I think I need a deadline, wasting time is definitely not helping the muteness. I take this seriously because I haven’t been able to finish anything lately and am emotional from either pregnancy or extensive lists. This week I’ve already gotten into fights with

"I’ve always wanted to have a nun phase, this might be the time to do it, I could really make a scene. Later, I could tell strangers I had to leave a nunnery because I got pregnant." says: How could you say that when we are on a beautiful vacation in Belfast, Ireland!!!

I got bored of my theatrics and decided to go to the park anyway. The park with swans is even tempered limestone smothered in cashmere, pockmarks about the size of when birds fly into windows, bald spots pooling with gray ponds and lettuce light. The pond’s hairline is textured like sinking my hands in a barrel of sesame seeds. Someone's embossed cobblestones coiled in concentric circles.

was starting to slither up walls because I was getting loud performing with our hostel roommates so I left to perform for some swans at some park. Belfast is wound tight but they have swans. The swans have Irish accents. Being around Irish accents has also made me susceptible to pregnancy paranoia.

was starting to slither up walls because I was getting loud performing with our hostel roommates.
Belfast is wound tight but they have swans. The swans have Irish accents.

The park with swans is even tempered limestone smothered in cashmere, pockmarks about the size of when birds fly into windows, bald spots pooling with gray ponds and lettuce light. The pond’s hairline is textured like sinking my hands in a barrel of sesame seeds. Someone's embossed cobblestones coiled in concentric circles.

I dive into the water like a big dog and sighing into greener and greener fluid and then fertile brown. When I look up I see texture billow with raindrops and veined leaves resting their cheeks on the surface. It’s cyclical: settling in soil and then remembering you’re in Ireland and you love to talk and wombs are overrated and then right back to it again.

Everyone’s very honest about their hands and what they do with them and flaunt how clean they’ve circumscribed themselves. It’s only 2pm.
I’m busy finding the right place to put my hands on a bench branded, “LEST WE FORGET”.

My shadow is shaped like , and says: If you were pregnant your grandmother would get jealous and try to outlive the baby too and you’d never get her sapphire ring. I bet he knew I was pregnant before I did and wanted to get me to stop looking at babies like a small breed of dog.
One time showed me

No one should have to see time pass so visibly. I’m not organized enough to give up anything right now. I can't. I’m not sure where to be. There’s no outside of it.
Ireland doesn’t come any closer. I make eye contact with the swan who looks like the girl I first dissected a frog with.

I usually tell my dreams but this got redacted: I walk past some rosy cheeks, walk through some heaving humidity. I fall into a pile of leaves from 1923, fall onto a ferry, my old man owns the thing. I'm lapping up fat ocean while painting myself outrageously pregnant garnished with granny smiths. I’m gauzy in wedding tulle and doily lace.
Under a veil: Charley horse muscles and mist spasm and lurch.
Under a veil: Compost.
Something curtained with wings dotes on the obese ocean. I have dove white satin gloves. I am shaped like a bell. On a boat that adores me, my hair grows so long. Clouds chime velvet, and I silently agree everyone out there smells like they would start talking about the universe if we showed signs of weakness.
He throws me overboard.
When I woke up the first word I thought of was: Sesame.

If I tell the dream I’ll tell it like: On a big-bellied riverboat, we found the hull was made entirely of stained glass. We lived there for 100 years. In this time I grow my first capillary, become prolific, dye my hair red but everyone thinks its natural, and when I speak the words come out in my mother's handwriting.
I get morbidly rich. I throw you overboard. You are pissed. You eat the boat. When I woke up the first word I thought was: Imlying.

would feel more betrayed than I do. I think if I don’t tell him it doesn't count as remembering. Remembering my dreams makes me want to start writing letters, but sending letters makes me feel pregnant. Gossip, stained glass, and watching people squeeze orange juice also makes me feel pregnant. If I don’t tell I think I’m pregnant, I won’t be pregnant.