Who could leave a stove like that

behind? Still reflecting sun

in the yard. Reservoir still tight.

I don’t know how they got it

on the back of that truck

or why the springs didn’t

give out. I could see

for, a brief moment, on the side

as it rounded the drive

Direct To You.

That wood range was next

to the last thing they moved

from my Aunt’s place

when had to sell the farm in Burr Oak

I half thought it was a threshing

machine creeping up the drive

with the pipe still attached.

I half imagined a last whiff

of smoke trailing out.

Polished, still gleaming nickel

trim handled a thousands of

times, her hands feeding the flames,

feeding the seasonal hands, Skyler Gilkerson

Peruvski. I never knew his last name.

It kept them warm. Hot water

from the copper boiler

for socks and everything else

unwanted on a hot summer day.

One thousand stove lengths

bucked off, the saw teeth filed

down so deep they gutted out.

That stove had so much to give.

Who could leave it behind.