T H R E S H O L D

Towering in plain site
It hid behind vines
Walls stained with rain
Standing proud and fearless


It was pale pink but maybe once upon a time its color
Had more life and a fancier description like Sunday salmon

Its name was etched on a gold plate in a font
Something like wing dings but still looked 1800’s

The garden gnome paid me no mind as I paused
At the absence of a doorbell to examine the knocker

The door opened just as I’d decided to use my fist
An old man, a tentative smile mixed with a humble

Expression and sadness as he reached out his arms
To embrace me without a word

I was surprised to recognize him because
He looked exactly like the photo sent

It seemed a hostage situation as construction workers
Surrounded their home to demolition nearby structures

The home held a history before them over a century old
To be preserved but it wasn’t walls they wanted to keep

Moving quickly to the second floor he prepared me
In the way one might prepare a newborn to try peas

I followed the song in his dancing spoon
Until smiling and opening my mouth to taste it

She sat facing the door as I walked in, eyes open
Yet she was looking through me, past me

Meditating on a door I didn’t see
The one she would soon walk through

Excusing himself he walked down the stairs
Each step announcing its age as I sat next to her

The room was stifling and my skin was hot
I spoke before getting too close, before touching

She didn’t respond but I knew she’d heard
Her upper body slowed and her hands moved

A twitch just ever slightly in anticipation
She was frozen, colder than all the rest

A chill that minutes later sent me running
Praying in her bathroom to vomit silently

She would be gone before night
Yet while alive I mourned over her toilet

At the counter filled with over thirty
Prescriptions to prolong her longing

Gathering myself I returned to hold her
Not in the way taught but the way known

She’d been waiting for someone
To carry her over the threshold


~ May love be our final groom ~