The map tells me I am Here. I turn around and try to notice myself so I can see what Here looks like. I assume it is a matter of perspective. I look at the map again. Here is next to Building 17, which, according to the grid on the side, is an inch or two to my right. But if I stand with my back to Here, then Building 17 is an inch or two to my left. Et cetera. This map confuses me. It makes no mention of how many Heres there may be, or how if I move across this parking lot to the next map, I will be back Here, which will not be Here at all, but will instead be There. This complicates navigation because if Here is There, then I am a traveler of both time and space and am in two places at once. I do not think I am a traveler of both time and space. It is more likely I am a poor reader of maps. If I stay Here forever, I will know where I am, just like the map does. But as soon as I venture beyond Here, I will be nowhere. I will be no one.

Corey Ginsberg’s writing has most recently appeared in such publications as Hippocampus, Redux, The Broken Plate, The Nashville Review, and Saw Palm. Corey currently lives in Miami and works as a freelance writer.

Photo Credit: “Moon over Elephant Butte” by Maria S. Picone. Picone has an MFA from Goddard College. Her writing and art appear in Homestead Review, Vine Leaves Literary Journal, and GTK Creative. Her photography documents the interesting and unusual places she’s been, including Cambodia, Uganda, and Australia. Her Twitter is @mspicone and her website is mariaspicone.com.

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