Barbara Peckham Poet Personification

A Cardboard Box Tumbles

A cardboard box tumbles
Down the dark and empty street.
Cold gray houses stand watch,
No life within, their voices stilled,
Their wide eyes vacant.
On the porches furniture shrouds
Flap and tear in the bitter wind.
Dry leaves swirl and whisper.

Do these sentinels remember?
Do they see a different time?
Surely they are waiting
For the children’s laughter,
The banging screen door,
The clatter of skateboards,
People calling from the street?

Do they long for summer -
Sweet, salty air blowing
Through their open doors,
The smell of beach roses,
The squeaking of a porch swing?
Do they recall a warmth of sun
Soaking into their brittle,
Cold, arthritic bones?

For now, though, they stand waiting,
Staring down the empty street,
Watching the cardboard box
Tumbling end over end
Along the dusty road,
Watching the dry leaves swirl
And spin into small tornadoes,
Watching for summer.

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Caren Krutsinger July 26, 2021 at 8:39 PM Your empathy for the empty houses and the empty box and other inanimate objects "made my day" today. Barbara Peckham July 26, 2021 at 8:47 PM I used to see those houses on my street in winter, and it always struck how lonely they looked. I'm glad it resonated with you.

L Milton Hankins July 26, 2021 at 8:02 PM Barbara, this is exquisite poetry. Your images are striking, urgent, vibrant and your rhythm is so professional. Lovely stuff! Barbara Peckham July 26, 2021 at 8:08 PM The street I lived on on the Vineyard was a lot like that in winter. Many of the homes were summer places, empty in winter. Thanks for your encouragement.