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One day my mother told us that she would take my father down the mountain to find a shaman, an herb, anything to stop the bone rattling cough that was threatening to claim him. he collapsed and died in my mother's arms shortly after they got at the foot of the mountain. when my mother told us this, it was as if i had been punched in the chest, as if the ground beneath us had fallen away. for all the years that my family had climbed that frozen rock, for all the gold that had been dugged out, burned clean, send to glitter around the world, we

For all the gold that had been dugged out, burned clean, send to glitter around the world, we had never owned a fleck of it. we were poor, bone poor. the poorest family in a mud hole of poor people. i cursed the mountain, cursed the mines, cursed the gold buried beneath my feet. those poem, those words altered something in me. it was as if i had chance upon a cash of buried treasure.