What Seems like a Foggy Memory Could Be the Heart Trying to Remember

by Travis Truax

Edgar Guerra

There are things I have always meant to say that I will never get a chance to say again. This is obvious, like the urge to give up when you can. But I want to be more optimistic with my time. I want to churn the frothy waves of living with the frail leg-kicks of my trying. Does that seem worth it — to swim the breakwaters off Big Sur and wish the heart of Kerouac back into the world? It won’t do, simply wishing. I must stop to sing. The seal barks are something, but not enough. When I want to really swim I will let it all go. I will albatross my way across the sky. I will not stop despite the fence, despite the growing river. Did you ever once wish to polish a piece of memory into stone, set it on the porch, and let it welcome you each time you came home? Did you ever once swim to the bottom of the public pool for one shiny penny? Did you ever once believe where you are?

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Travis Truax earned his bachelor’s degree in English from Southeastern Oklahoma State University in 2010. After college he spent several years working in various national parks out west. His work has appeared or is forthcoming in Connecticut River Review, Quarterly West, Bird’s Thumb, The Pinch, Raleigh Review and The Cossack Review. Currently he lives in Bozeman, Montana.