thinking of Reno, my hometown . . .

Reno Stash

In here are stored broken dreams, lucky strikes,
dried bones,
and desert storms,

memories of towns and lakes that are no more,
and of Julia Bulette, who never died.

Sunshine!
Stars!
Blue bright glory of sky, sky,
sky.

In here are a peepshow of
Easter egg hunts in brittle grass, of
icicles two feet long, and snow at Christmas,

of a gleaming arch over a street beaming and
buzzing neon stories,

of a casino whose front
was a testimony to those who came before us
and loved it here,

but none more than I.

                                     MLydiaM (1991)


I was too late (by five hours) to submit this poem at the Mr. Linky widget for Thursday's dVerse-Critique and Craft.

I had hoped to get this posted there in order to be behind James Rainsford in the list, because his poem reminded me of this poem of mine that in ways related to his subject and that got me going on this post. His subject was, um, ladies of the evening — and a famous one from the Victorian Era in Nevada is mentioned in my poem. You can read a bio of Julia C. Bulette HERE, where you can see the marker established in Virginia City in memory of her by the men who, um, appreciated her kind services. So I am off the hook for having to follow critiquing guidelines for the first time, which seemed daunting on a lack of sleep anyway — but I so enjoyed his poem that I'm still going to link it to this post.

I am mourning the horrific crash at the Reno Air Races on Friday afternoon. Reno is my hometown, as some of you know, and so my heart is there right now. This old poem is my tribute to the pilot who lost his life plunging from

Blue bright glory of sky, sky,

sky

and to those in the box seat area who were killed and horribly injured. From early reports it appears that the pilot made last-second efforts that successfully kept him from crashing directly into the stands, thereby saving hundreds of lives. I refer you to my hometown newspaper online for the latest details.

Finally, the casino front mentioned in my poem was the huge ceramic mural in front of Harold's Club, with words on the top that said: Dedicated in all humility to those who blazed the trail.

.