The Trapper's Bride

She’s from Bengal or Kashmir, holding James Dean’s hand in East of Eden. I wonder if I’m a eunuch in her head, as we face this Indian warrior selling his daughter for guns, red flannel, beads, tobacco, & blankets. The green sky & pale horse counterpoint the bride’s bemusement. What about the other woman half nude on the ground in a red garment, like hush & rage brushed over primer? The trappers sit like Jesus & a shepherd in rawhide, years from their future on a hill of buffalo skulls at Michigan Carbon Works. We survey the vista of golds & dark accents. She says, “Oops,” when our eyes meet, as she leans forward in a lowcut blouse, almost touching the canvas. Yes, he knew how to work with light. A bruise seethes into the lost colors of our wordless rendezvous.