Surreality
[Fiction Out West]
A mining town, among others, had been shut down the longest. Long before the mines closed, and all the towns followed. As the story goes; one night, a 10-year-old boy walks into a bar looking for his barmaid mom, and amid some bruhaha, he's accidentally shot dead. Enraged and unwilling to settle down, she's also shot dead by the same gunman--but her's was an act of murder. In his dark attire, he rides off and is never seen again. An odd thing occurred for ten years, there were gunfights, but no deaths since the boy and mom, and as they went on their way never to be seen again, plenty wondered but brushed it off as even-steven since there was peace after every incident--until they learned that they were 'god-awful' wrong.
(Of note:) The mining company needed a seamstress to sew the men's mining clothes, so they found a new seamstress--10 years ago since the old one was shot dead. That was the 10-year-old boy. To make ends meet, the mother took the barmaid's job and taught her son how to sew.
Now to the surreality. So the mining company wanted to open a new shaft through an old closed mine until they got to reopen it. To their horror, they found more than fifty male bodies, mostly all bones, but added to that horrendous find, were the conditions they were left in. Their bones were sewn together, left leg bone to right leg bone, left arm bone to right arm bone--bones, not skin. Every bone, pierced and tightly tugged threads through them for the past, ten years. All believed they were quite alive as they were all sewn up. Including one that some remembered was once a dark attire now white as a sheet. After all, they are miners, and the boy is just doing his job.
No one told him, his job was taken, or, the fact he's dead.
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[Non-Fiction Further Out West ... in the most part]
In her early years of the church, mom, besides the music industry/songwriter--was seamstress for the family-at-large. Kalapana was her hometown, temporary sort of ghost town--now its a thriving grass growing--smoking sort of town, the same sorts that Maui Fire is up in arms--too late for my Kalapana, methinks.
The above dream, is still wrapped in ambiguity, and its pertinence to me is of greater distance. It came to me not as noted, after my 40th year retirement, and shortly after my sister's passing, that left me in charge, being the sole heir and reason for my return. I've entered bits and pieces of poetry that seems to dissuade the receptive ones of ready clues that purposely becomes nonsensical. I'll leave it at this, and perhaps a deciphering may unravel the mystery.
Copyright ©
Hilo Poet
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