For several years now, I have seen the sunrise every weekday. My primary instinct is to splash in it like a puddle, to go up into the abstract and two-dimensional ceiling of reality with vaguely criminal intentions. Like most people, my first time flying was a Disney trip. I remember the sky better than the theme park. My mother was at a loss because I asked whether we could see my dead bunny rabbit from up there. Everybody was looking down at the tiny, teeming metropolis, which I thought was dumb. So I peered out and across, trying to bridge infinity with little more than my unsharpened imagination.
Megan Volpert's fourth book is Sonics in Warholia (Sibling Rivalry Press, 2011). Predictably, meganvolpert.com is her website.