The Meadow Annual Literary Arts Journal 2018

Middle of Nowhere Kat Lewis Through the vents in the car, the fogged up windows cracked for stark night air, the smell of damp cud crab apples is swimming and someone sleeping may awaken sometime soon. The slam of a door and the rhapsody of pocket change. She fantasizes of dropping her engagement ring in a stranger’s shopping bag tonight or tomorrow or the day after. In the parking lot of a local diner in the middle of the night or caught until sunrise in the safety net of the Golden Gate Bridge, the parachute cord must still be pulled. The Meadow 19