Gold Rush Brides

Gold Rush Brides

East they pan with eyes like slits

to shield the dust, to frame the light-

While others scout for bullion, gold rush brides

are seeking bone; a remembrance

of humanity in a world where

truth falls soft and love falls stiff

on skin so groomed and absolute

with rigid movement;

fear to bend.


It’s the agile way they move their feet,

their style of catching sun-

yet knowing when to shade the glow,

when discernments sense the burn;

see how they mount their horses in the noon

before the fade sets in to taint their skin,

paint them still, force a sleep inside

on brilliant nights instead of

beneath the moon in dirt so clean

it gleams like hope imbued.


Until one night they work for hours

kneading steeds while wind takes speed,

nature’s counter to the damning of their ride-

Those gold rush brides, they hear that wind,

they let that howling in; they’re never more alive

than when the truth propels their stride-


So they’re mounting trojan backs, see them

heaving soul-filled sacks, they’re drawing maps

within their chests, redirecting now due west

just as they’ve always done before

as if they’re off to fight a war—


Fierce gold rush brides,

always choosing more.



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