Opal Hunting, 1967

Mom was my matrix,

And the two of us stood

Atop a rocky one--

Lamina of broken basalt,

Where we hunted for opals

Near Red Rock Canyon,

One blustery day--

I was good at spotting

Tiny opals scattered

Across abraded claim,

I'd pick rainbows

Out of dross,

While mom hunched

Over dark rubble,

And scrutinized

Encircling stones.

A cowboy on the heap,

Strode over

To my beautiful mother,

And tossed single scrap

Her way,

"Honey, try this one,"

He said. She tapped it

With small hammer

And crumbly matrix

Split, revealing opal

Concretion dazzling

With orange and rose

Fire.

"I'll give you 'hundred

Dollars for it," he offered,

While she refused

And pocketed her gem.

Mom wrapped opal

With oiled cotton gauze,

And stored it for years

In jewelry box--

I'd peer at find

From time to time;

The stone 

Never set,

Acquiring fractures,

Emoting auras

Laura Stickney 2024

Notes:

Mom and I visited Barnett 

Opal Mine, Red Rock Canyon.

It has been closed for years

and the road erased.

photo: fire opal from Red Rock

Canyon area by R. Lavinsky &

Mineral Auctions.com