Follow the typical signs
the hand-painted lines
down prairie roads.
Pass the lone church spire.
Pass the talking wire from where to who knows? There s no way to divide the beauty of the sky from the wild western plains.
Where a man could drift
in legendary myth
by roaming over spaces.
The land was free and the price was right.
Dakota on the wall is a white-robed woman
broad yet maidenly.
Such power in her hand as she hails the wagon man s family.
I see Indians that crawl through this mural that recalls our history.
Who were the homestead wives? Who were the gold rush brides? Does anybody know? Do their works survive their yellow fever lives in the pages they wrote? The land was free
yet it cost their lives.
In miner s lust for gold.
A family s house was bought and sold
piece by piece.
A widow staked her claim on a dollar and his name
so painfully.
In letters mailed back home her Eastern sisters they would moan as they would read accounts of madness
childbirth
loneliness and grief.

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