Stone Stoop
Stone Stoop
At home there was
A single stone stoop
One step, cut from a greater rock
By wedge, and sledge, and water,
And sweat.
Dragged by horses up the hill and rolled by many men
To lay against the kitchen doorway.
Not much, not high,
Just enough so a family none taller than five feet
Could come and go as a barely 4’10” father could
Hunt, and trap, and smith, and milk cows,
Endlessly milk cows with his wife and children.
—
The man’s only son, my uncle Roy,
Was a son apart.
One son, cut differently,
Grew tall, grew colorful, grew feminine.
Grew to thirst for education, for creativity, and for the men
He could never bring through that kitchen doorway.
Not then, not ever,
So he tried to form a family for nearly 15 years and failed,
As he watched his 4’8” sister marry a man who loved cows,
Watched her endlessly milk cows with her father
and husband.
—
I wonder how that dooryard,
that cow barn, that stone stoop
Looked to my uncle.
That stone, cut from a greater rock
That was useless to him but perfectly made
For his sister.
Perfect for her husband, one of the many young men
Who had rolled the stone into place at the kitchen doorway.
They, my grandparents,
He not taller than five feet but giant of heart
Stayed and had children and milked cows
Endlessly milked cows.
Endlessly milked cows.
While Uncle Roy went out into the world
And did everything
Else.