today you arrived with all the notice
of a lightning strike;
the scent of your hair,
your alto laugh,
the grace of stretching while at your easel.
Somewhere within this bony egg–
this overheated mush of fat and string–
that memory lives.
If I knew which quadrant
I’d opt for surgery–
a knife or ice pick–
sudden as the swift descent to memory.
Yet consider this, biped fool,
what if all that remains of that hard love
is this chemical spurt?
What guarantee that she,
safely distant, holds any memory
Travis Stephens was raised on a dairy farm. He earned a degree at University of Wisconsin-Eau Claire, before departing for the West Coast. Stephens became a sea captain and now resides in California. His work has appeared recently in STONEBOAT REVIEW, CROSSWINDS POETRY JOURNAL, SOUTHWORD, HAVIK, PENNSYLVANIA ENGLISH. Online his was a Poem of the Week for Silver Needle Press and poems appeared in INK & VOICES and HCE REVIEW.