J e n n i f e r M a r t e l l i
Some people crave open spaces, the range pulled
taut as a bed sheet and expectant. I got lost
driving through a town built on a flatland.
The world could have ended as it arced
miles down the highway. I aimed
straight, all the way to the horizon line.
If the heat hadn’t rippled and warped
the road, I could have fallen off the edge clean.