Desperado
by
Sage Sweetwater
Saturday, September 16, 2006
Rated "R" by the Author.
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http://www.authorsden.com/adstorage/
29292/DESPRADO.MID
still, she speaks a Desperado
language, her oil-cloth duster
repels the storm before the calm,
she pulls a long lavender sock from
her buckskin saddlebag and takes a nip
of apricot brandy, the meadows the color
of marmot fur, like her, they survive at this
elevation on alpine meadow grass, she rides on,
passes by a fallen ponderosa pine, it's tough grain
all twisted into a whipping pole licorice-stick spiral,
lightning-welded, just how she feels, the bolt hit high
up and spun down, a horn-shaped snag she hit, the
Desperado's Landmark of the stout gear that released
her from it, Barbed Wire's Daughter, once tangled up in it,
*I****I****I****I***
some 4 miles ahead, her
woman heats water for Desperado's
bath and puts a fresh quilt on the feather
tick to warm her when she makes it home
from the wilds of the 1880s West, the years
she prefers to live in, tumbleweeds line up against
the fences, Desperado never fearing a drought when
she heads in the direction of that beaver who clutches
a stick to stir the bathsalts,
*I****I****I****I***
she dismounts at an old
windmill, takes off her dusty
clothes, washes her "she knows better"
off in the stock tank, dresses back into her
dusty clothes remembering what Mark Twain
said, "Be careless in your dress if you must, but
keep a tidy soul," Desperado remounts her horse
and turns back on the trail she came on, the stick the
beaver clutches to stir the bathsalts floats on the bathwater, her woman folds the quilt into fourths, places it back in the cedar hope chest,
*I****I****I****I***
Desperado rides past a lonely
ranch woman's house where turnstiles
once kept out stray livestock, her loving
woman on the other end of the trail blows
out the oil lamp, another moonless night without
Desperado,
*I****I****I****I***
Desperado peeks in the
window at walnut elegance
and the stick floating on the
bathwater, the ranch woman's
bunkhouse cold and no warm quilt,
she's back home from the wilds of the
1880s West, maybe tomorrow a roadrunner
will tempt her in a race, she tucks the cameo she
bought at the General Mercantile under her woman's
pillow, and lights the oil lamp...
Copyright 2006 Sage Sweetwater, firebrand lesbian novelist
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| Reviewed by Randall Barfield |
10/28/2006 |
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| it's gonna take me a while to get into some of ur stuff so...i think this 1 is very interesting and plan 2 read it again 2 see more things in it cheers--i appreciate ur visits to me previously |
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| Reviewed by Chrissy McVay |
9/22/2006 |
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Wonderful write, Sage.
Chrissy |
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| Reviewed by Thomas Garrett |
9/18/2006 |
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This definitely is one of your best. The word pictures you paint, the feelings you elicit, this is wonderful, Sage.
Sonny G |
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| Reviewed by Jena Ayro |
9/17/2006 |
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| Reviewed by jude forese |
9/16/2006 |
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| superb imagery, Sage ... "Desparado is one of your best!" |
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| Reviewed by Kate Clifford |
9/16/2006 |
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| You are one of the best story tellers I kmow. You bring the scent and all the senses of the actions of your characters to your readers mind. Great write. |
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| Reviewed by E T Waldron |
9/16/2006 |
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Sage, you sure know how to tell a story, I enjoyed this one and the message it imparts. Excellent!
Eileen |
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| Reviewed by Susan de Vegter |
9/16/2006 |
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Your Muse comes in quietly and she paints the west in desert colors for your audience to enjoy with an immortal flavor. I always enjoy and learn from you Sage...named accordingly.
Susan |
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