Travis Klunick

Point Reyes Seashore | Autumn Spadaro

 

Found on a folded piece of paper in the priest’s Bible, dated June 2nd, 1987

Saragosa, TX

Throb and thunder. Twisting storm. O, Saragosa! O, your foundations laid bare! Your children’s voices hushed. God, how Your grace is something unheard of here. How Your Book says another world. I don’t know it. I try to see. But how Your hands push the creosotes’ heads down. How You drag Your fists, miles wide, over the earth and push the grasses’ faces into the dirt. And I, drunk in the afternoons. Pill dark and heavy burdened. There were epochs in which I looked upon You. There were times that ran with the shifting of the plates in which my love for You was seven swans shaking the earth with their white wing beats and seven epochs in the between during which I couldn’t bear to believe in You at all. How your ineffable brightness burnt my eyes. Left me with my arms swaying before me like those of a drowned man. Drifting pale at the bottom of some black sea.

 



TRAVIS KLUNICK grew up in Midland, Texas. Before graduating from the James A. Michener Center for Writers, he spent several years working on ranches in far West Texas and driving long haul trucks across the United States. He’s currently working on a novel set in oil country.

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