Posts Tagged ‘gold’

The People’s Stand

Posted: August 3, 2019 in What Pegman Saw
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Today Pegman took us to Black Hills, South Dakota. I immediately went to the history part. Hello! Custer. My husband and I visited the site of Custer’s Last Stand several years ago. When one looks over that field of slaughter, it is truly amazing. But Custer’s backstory brings chills. He was one self-centered guy.

 

Call me Lean Bear or Bloody Knife or Dancing Wolf
it does not matter.
My true name is Man Who Killed Custer.
When Yellow Hair came to The People’s land
we guided him through our valleys.
Let him kill our bears.
We did not stop his military band from playing unrecognizable tunes
that broke the silence of our mornings.
No one flinched when his troops leaned across saddles to pick flowers,
tearing the plants from the ground.
Plants needed to feed our women and children in winter.

We should have stopped the telegraph announcing gold was discovered
but The People were unaware of gold’s lure.
The gleaming rock had always been with us. Its glitter meant nothing.
We signed treaties proclaiming our sacred lands would be protected.
Still, men tore up our mountains.

Two years later Yellow Hair returned to make a forest of mistakes.
This time I was ready.

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Sarah’s Magic

Posted: March 18, 2015 in Friday Fictioneers
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© Copyright - Rachel Bjerke

The smell of wood smoke scents Sarah’s world. Fragments of shattered glass, collected near the castle and arranged in neat rows along the top of the rock wall, bring it color. Her bed is made of gathered moss. She sleeps beneath the stars.

The silken strands of Sarah’s flax-white hair weave themselves into tangled knots and drag upon the ground. She festoons the ends with feathers. Her dresses are nothing more than collected rags, pieced together in patches of variegated browns and occasional pieces of red.

Why would the queen want to see her? Has she heard? Sarah can weave straw into gold.

Each morning Beatrice goes down to the sea to collect pieces of glass –
thrown among the driftwood by high tide –
and strings the colored fragments into necklaces and bangles for her arms.

She makes her dresses of silk and satin, corduroy and canvas,
and decorates them with pelts from wolves, bear, and elk.
Village children dare each other to touch her hair
which shimmers like star dust blended with thin threads of gold.
She pays no heed.

After three months her bruises are gone,
the fingers Spencer broke before leaving are beginning to mend –
but her mind remains fragile and bent.

Copyright-John Nixon

Yesterday I encountered a funny little man in these twisted woods. Dressed in bark, vines in his hair. Two feet high, one foot wide, three eyes and a nose like a solid brass trumpet. “Come back on the morrow and I will grant you one wish,” said he.

One wish, one wish, one wish. Gold? Silk? Baskets of fruit?  A barrel of meat? My husband? The child?

Reenter the woods. My mind in a whirl. Nothing moves. No birds. No wind. No little man.

I remain lost. Hallucinating again.