Hone

Along the line where the sound of a sparrow meets the sound

of a highway, V was asleep in the middle of the bed. V was asleep

in the middle of the bed when a meteor on its way to landing

on the rug in front of two recliners in a living room twelve miles away

split open the high bell-rigged window and fired the room with a flood-

like light. V sat up in the sinking middle of an old spindly bed,

thinking of anything but her on-again off-again relationship with stars,

her telescope covered and covered in dust, the framed certificate—

A Star Named V—her neck level with heaven and earth, her own chair

warm with her recent escape, some gravity having pulled her

from sleeping in the chair to sleeping in the middle of the bed.