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.