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The truth about digging a hole to China

Antipodal means the point on the globe exactly across from where you are, the diametrical opposite, meaning if you drew a line straight through the center of earth wherever it came out on the other side would be the location you would have to travel to in order to get as far as possible away from your life, and we could start digging now, today, even though the way the continents have laid out their large hard bodies every point in the contiguous United States is opposite someplace in the middle of the Indian Ocean which is a fact I find frustrating but also comforting — the secret's out — we never would have made it to China and even now I'm grown up and there's still no city I can escape to, along whose bright anonymous streets I can wander without worrying about the faces of people I have let hammer holes in the cheap drywall interior of my heart, no unfamiliar metropolis waving flags that mean nothing to me, every thrilling distance opens out onto a dead prairie of ocean and here through my window blackbirds still bend and swoop, the trains croon their bleak departures and arrivals, people I will never love because I will never meet them white themselves quietly out of my life and every half-beautiful thing I see becomes a line in a poem I will never be able to write, and meanwhile my actions have become stiff and collected, I reduce myself and reduce myself monitoring the sweet unfurling of leaves and hunting every blank-slate face for something I can't name, some kind of truce or a peace offering I won't mistake for a promise, while half a planet away fish shimmer in the bowels of the Indian Ocean and ships sail across the soles of my feet, marking latitudes and longitudes with waves that roll on and on around the surface of the Earth and finally come crashing upon these wide and lonely shores.

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