An Empty Stomach

Empty Nest

 

 

The house, holding its breath,

Behind a dry throat

The windows and doors locked

Against the howling winds

It’s old bones giving in to a groan

In utter distress, revealing its age

 

The lights flickering

As an irregular heart rhythm

With every gust from the north

Light curves and bends

Around the contours of the room

As a car rounds the cul de sac

 

A momentary distraction

From the echoes of children

That once shook the floors

And slammed the doors

Sounds that slowly fade away

Like gurgles of an empty stomach

As this old house starves

Reviews

[jacob erin-cilberto]

Old structures groan from loss of life within. I love old houses and walking through abandoned ones that used to hold life. Laughter in the halls, children running up and down stairs, sliding down the bannister...
and if we listen very closely, we can still hear them.
I love the old bones of an old house...and wish I could feed it life sights, and sounds so it would not starve.
j.

[Michael Sun Bear]

Wow. A great poem. A subject so many of us could have written about, but you are the first whose work I have read. I think this is my first reading of anything you have written, but I will certainly read more. It was Kelly’s actions who brought me here. I loved your profile, you sound like a very interesting woman. My grandparents owned a large three story home dating back to the late 1800’s. They had moved into a smaller house but I still had to spend time in the old house to practice piano among other things. Past the kitchen, and especially upstairs, the house gave me fearful chills. It felt occupied by something unfriendly. Perhaps I will write about it. You have inspired me. MSB

[The Rock And Roll Cowbo..]

Wow. A very heartfelt poem. I can't imagine what it feels like for parents when their children leave home.

[Lorry]

Amd moving on from Kelly's review it reminded me of when I was young, our house which was old used to turns the windows of darkness into a movie screen of dancing limbs and branches in silhouette, gently waving and serenading me to sleep.
I really do believe those childhood memories are why I still love black and white movies and photographs.
Technicolour was okay, but Black and white comes alive in our minds far more and those memories etched are indelible.
A really powerful write that resonated through my own memories.

[Kelly Scheppers]

Pat, this is extraordinary, and the best - the very best I have read in some time. It made me think of the slamming of our screen door when I was a child, and how it resonated through the house. How I miss the sound, never dreaming I would.