Travis Cravey
1. THE DISPATCHSaturn Devouring His Son, McCulloch County, Texas, 1982
He watched his father for direction, advice. He tried to bring the rifle up to his shoulder slowly, as his father did. He struggled but did not want to disappoint. He got the rifle up and looked again to his father. The father calmly pointed out into the field.
The boy looked through his scope and saw, just over the crest of a small hill a hundred yards away, at the South end of the field, a buck’s head, his antlers dipping up and down as he fed. The boy turned as his eyes widened. The father shook his head slowly.
The buck, moments later, topped the hill. He turned and continued grazing. The father now tapped his fingers under his armpit and the boy, excited, nodded. He steadied himself, put his crosshairs where he had been taught, took a deep breath, let half out, and squeezed.
The rifle crack was loud and the mourning doves that had been cooing in trees nearby scattered at the sound. The boy’s ears rang as he turned to his father. The man stood, without a word, and began walking across the field, the boy trailing after.
The father was not an easy man to follow, his stride long, and his pace quick. He tended not to look left or right, sure and certain of what he did and where he went. His hands were massive, his fists meaty hammers.
The buck was dead and still, blood trickling from its nose and side. It had been a perfect shot, and the animal’s steaming heart lay some feet away. It was the boy’s first kill, and he smiled as he looked at his father.
“We’re close to camp,” the man said, his eyes never leaving the dead animal’s body. “You can dress him there.”
“Help me carry him back?”
The boy imagined his triumphant return, his uncles and cousins congratulating him on his fine shooting, his father smiling.
But his father had already turned and was walking away. “You carry him,” he said, the edge forever in his voice. “You’re the one that killed the poor son of a bitch.”
2. BUREAU INVENTORYiPad/Bluetooth keyboard: This is where the magic happens!
Phone: I write in quick spurts, with lots of scrolling twitter in between.
Glasses: I hate them. I’d be lost without them.
Headphones: I write to HardBop jazz, usually Cannonball Adderly or Horace Silver.
Poetry book(s): Occasionally, if I am stumped, I read a poem and let the rhythm direct my next steps. It usually works.
Coffee: I am 62% coffee at all times.
3. BIOGRAPHYTravis Cravey is a mechanic and maintenance man in Southeastern Pennsylvania. His first collection, Manifold, was published by Emerge Literary Journal in 2021. Cravey’s hope, always, is to tell interesting, compelling stories. Sometimes he does better than other times. He’s happy to leave “meaning” and “analysis” to his betters. Cravey is a huge baseball fan and he will arm wrestle anyone, anytime, much to the detriment of his shoulders.