That high, clear wall you see in
the distance is really the sky,
etched with clouds.
Sometimes it feels like
you live in a bubble,
but you don’t.
Everything extends
outward, to infinity.
You aren’t trapped.
The horizon only seems fixed.
Try this: go for a long walk
and listen for the shatter
of glass that isn’t there.
Vivian Wagner lives in New Concord, Ohio, where she’s an associate professor of English at Muskingum University. Her work has appeared in Slice Magazine, Muse/A Journal, Forage Poetry Journal, Pittsburgh Poetry Review, McSweeney’s Internet Tendency, and many others. She’s the author of a memoir, Fiddle: One Woman, Four Strings, and 8,000 Miles of Music (Citadel-Kensington); a full-length poetry collection, Raising (Clare Songbirds Publishing House); and three poetry chapbooks. See Vivian Wagner Books for more information.
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