Jump into the puddle and disperse the rainbows that have gathered there. You are affronted by their declaration of color. In late winter, there is only grey. Even the crocuses have withered back into the sidewalk's crumbled concrete and earth.

Stay away from old photographs and archived emails. You must learn to take some bleach to your figurative center, to the part of your memory that links directly to your heart, and scrub very, very hard.

Welcome the unbeliever, newly returned from the white fog and molasses. On the corner of 11th and First, she remembers her life. You wish for yours back.