Winter Storm
October 1884
Louisville, Colorado
Winds slam down from the mountains so hard
that even the birds struggle to fly.
The sky is still clear, the air warm at dawn.
Autumn leaves, dried up and ready to drop,
whip into a steady rumble on the trees.
He grips his lunch pail and shields his face
as he walks right into a squall.
At the bathhouse, he shivers as he changes
into a light shirt and his boots.
Ten hours later, as he leaves the mine,
dark clouds begin to gather on the plains.
In the dusk light, he sees the peaks
blue in the distance are streaked with snow.
Dream Factory
May 1885
Rock Springs, Wyoming
Some nights she still hears the whistle that blew
when they carried Daddy’s body
from the mine.
“Rock fall. We’re sorry, but
there’s nothing else that we can do.”
A week later, her brother,
just past fifteen,
took their father’s tools and shoes
and showed up for work at Number Five.
Every day she begs
the Lord to bring him home alive.
Every day she sees the gash on Daddy’s scalp,
the eyes still open—and the hands,
those blistered hands
he can no longer lay on her.
Daybreak
September 2, 1885
Rock Springs, Wyoming
He wakes to blackbirds
rustling outside his window,
ready to fly away
for winter. His back aches
as he rolls out of bed, fumbles
for a light, boils water
for tea, chews on a slice
of dry bread—no more butter.
He grabs his tools and heads into
the hazy dawn. Dew droplets
nip his skin. Along the banks
of Bitter Creek, sagebrush
scrapes his shins. The sun
casts a long light on the land.