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Threshold Out of the patchwork quilt of all that used to be good times and hard a hundred years and more surely they salvaged a little flooring windows doors places to stand empty mouths eyeholes but what won't move or be torn up like pegged poplar timbers sillplates trued by eye must be heaped and burned and worse: ma and pa shade maples cut their stumps rooted and blasted the well choked with chunks of fieldstone foundation the rusted cookstove dumped in the outhouse hole the yard harrowed and planted Yet with all sign carted off leveled scattered snarled fenceline unstrung rutted road plowed under old lives overgrown still every spring up through winter wheat clover alfalfa far as you can see steal iris and crocus and tiger lily to set a spell at these doorsteps
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