sudden shift, from the rhythm of sunrise and hammer and hoe, to the creak of wooden seats and the sharp click of the timeclock. my body forgot so quickly that i am not used to manual labor; i carried the tamping bar across my shoulders like jesus, dragged the shovel back and forth over long trails, drilled holes, dug ditches, woke my flesh to the varigated pleasures of strength and bruise and stretch. i planted peas, strange squarish green seeds that bend just so under pressure, that fit so snugly beneath the soil.

i'm applying for the summer internship at the hostel where we stayed, i'll be hearing back from swat in about a month, i'm taking six classes and i know every inch of the bookstore by heart. but what i notice most is the newlybudded trees, the sticky city fog, and the slow beating of my own heart.