by Zachary Kocanda
When I was younger there wasn’t a map in the house, only a picture of the Earth taken by the Voyager 1 from so far away that my mother said I couldn’t understand it. It was like being at the mall and there was a YOU ARE HERE at the bottom. “That’s us right here,” my mother joked, and: “I can see our house from here” and “There’s us in the backyard” and “You can see me waving.” I selected a ballpoint pen from her purse and colored over the pale, blue dot so there was nothing but the nothingness of the Universe that surrounded us.
Zachary Kocanda is a sophomore at Bowling Green State University studying creative writing. He is a staff member for both Prairie Margins and Key Magazine.