What Remains in an Empty House

There remains something, indefinable and invaluable,
left behind in an empty house; once the boxes are packed and sealed,
the trucks loaded, the tedious inventory and heavy hauling halted,
the obligatory labor dutifully fulfilled,
something remains, standing on its own, without feet nor measure,
apart from that human sense of accomplishment.
Something undeniable. Something I cannot resist.
Something that lays itself upon the silence without body nor motion.
Something unseen before now, appearing before my eyes in crisp, full view.

Once the accumulated clots of clutter are removed
blood flows, in vigorous currents, throughout the
cleansed arteries of an impeccable empty house.

A house void of pots and pans, potted plants,
silver cutlery and crystalware, plates,
clothes, loungers, divans, televisions, microwaves
comforters, mattresses, boxsprings and bedposts,

A house void of possession and convenience.

A house full of measureless, indivisible

space...

poem by Gregory Allen Uhan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!