Evil spirits, in a last-ditch effort to curse the couple, hovered at the threshold,
so the bride had to be lifted to ensure that the spirits couldn’t enter her body
through the soles of her feet.
Not literal this threshold, two parts wild animal—
something to be wrangled with—one part fir,
smattered with dents, and she a sucker
for first impressions, let him break her
hymen, spooling blood, the only one. Fir,
a soft wood, pale yellow, some would say
wan, the grain and knots right at the surface,
ill-suited for the soles of shoes coming
and going, mostly the cursed going.