Property

~Sandra Duguid Our back porch, I discover from the yard, is caving in; eaves troughs rust in the grass. What defines the limits of this house? Spirea takes over the living room; rain attacking the neighbor’s tin roof advances this way. I stand on the back steps, smell the rain, and through her screen, the match Mother lights to cook supper. She comes to the door and we talk about Bradley’s acres of dark winter wheat, growing farther from us across the newly widened road. We used to own the place next door— my father’s, his father’s grocery, my sister’s and brother’s early apartments; I’ve never given it up. An old Pepsi Cola sign shines from the upstairs window in the barn. We claim the heavy peonies nodding across the line, elegant iris we planted rise in their yard. ~~~~~ Next: Be