I wrote this poem twenty years ago and I felt like sharing it this morning, with all the young, lonely, stay at home Moms out there! And, you might say with a little touch of nostalgia for a coming day. Can you have nostalgia for a future event?
Voices From Empty Houses
I somehow feel like a stranger here.
A visitor from another planet—
Or a time traveler . . .
I remember mother's soft cotton house dresses
And sturdy loafers with bobby socks.
The "Leave It To Beaver" days . . .
Of housewives sharing coffee
And the streets filled with childsong!
Now a lonely dog barks in echo,
As a stiff breeze clangs the chain,
Of an empty playground swing.
Distant traffic the only reminder
That people rushing away from the suburbs
will return,
To pick up empty garbage cans,
And unlock silent doors.
As I walk . . .
Flags, raised like sentinels on mailboxes demand,
"Who goes there?"
And voices from the empty houses,
Wearing linen suits with tinkling heels asking,
"And, what do you do?"
Incongruous isn't it?
A housewife in jeans,
And tennis shoes . . .
The voices
From the empty houses proclaiming—
Times have changed.
Echoing other voices from empty houses
Like Bolsheviks and Marxists,
Who changed times, for a season.
I see the faces of little girls in day care centers,
Behind their Berlin Walls—
Crooning to their dolls . . .
Of soft cotton dresses,
And sturdy loafers with bobby socks.
Housewives sharing coffee,
And streets filled with childsong!
© Bonnie Holt (1990)
