Echoes

by James H. Schneider

Have you noticed how your voice sounds
in an empty house? Not in that pregnant
absence when your wife has gone to the store
and the kids are at school. I mean an emptiness
not just of family, but of furniture, clothes, books,
plates, an emptiness even of attic and basement.
An emptiness made more complete by a single screw
that, when you open a drawer, rumbles in a small arc.
Then, as you murmur while you wander a last time
through the hallways, you may hear a faint echo
of reading to a child at bedtime, soothing another,
saying ‘good boy’ to the dog, whispering words
of love to your wife. But that’s not all this emptiness
has to offer. Go ahead, scream or shout. No one
can hear. Whatever you utter, it means the same thing.