time travel

she loves the nineteenth
century.
the wooden spindles
and rail,
the thick wide frames
of blonde oak,
the plaid
curtains. a narrow piano
with a bench is
against a bricked wall,
church music
neatly stacked.
her long dress touches
the floor,
covering her boots. she
shows you her quilts and rugs,
the butter churn
in her kitchen.
a crocheted pot holder,
the words love
and home, both framed,
stitched above the door.
there is a shelf over the stove
where bread
is warmed, she shows you
the box where baby birds
once born
are incubated, a pipe
to inhale heat,
to keep them warm.
she points out
the bottled glass of a window
pane, marred
with chips and
cracks and says, there's
Elsie, i'll fetch us
some milk in a little while,
but first have a seat,
let me stitch up
those pants.