How It Feels to Float

by Helena Fox

Sylvia moved here with Ronald when the houses were tiny boxes, cottages built for mine workers, when the sea wasn’t a prize.

All truth does is float, travel in these impossible, unpredictable zigs and zags, out to space and back. You can’t find truth if you haven’t captured it. You can’t be sure, if you don’t take a photograph and hold what happened in your hand.

I think of all of us, passing each other like turtles, heaving our pasts on our backs.