The January halls
are empty;
they echo
with thin, pale memories
The January house
is bare and
spare,
empty
There are no tchotchkes
no collections
no trophies
no books
no pictures
to distract the eye,
or absorb the sound
of a single pair
of slippers
shuffling
through the January halls.
Hollow echoes
bounce
off the hard,
bare surfaces.
The January house
stands empty,
waiting
to be filled
This is for Imaginary Garden with Real Toads where we are challenged to write something springing from the word hollow.
In Other Words 
it does, indeed . your tone in your pen epitomizes the prompt, Mary ~
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Hi Mary, new semester coming? That was one of my loves of teaching, a fresh beginning, old mistakes put aside and time to make it better this time (Better, better, better–Hey Jude).
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How lovely, sad that most home sales happen when the weather is warm and sunny. Houses need people and laughter in January.
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Ooh, the hollowness resounds through your words — you didn’t only imbibe the word but constructed a theme around it. It’s such a haunting image, but with a certain hope for fullness.
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Thank you, HA.
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January is a waiting-to-be-filled, a bare house awaiting purpose. You do a great job of enunciating that hollow sound. Hard to do because it’s such a resonant emptiness. A little has to say much, which you do.
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Thank you Brendan.
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I love, love, love that all that emptiness is just a cradle… waiting to become.
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I love the halls echoing with thin, pale memories. Very cool. I can hear the single pair of slippers, shuffling……..
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Thank you Sherry.
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Reminds me of the house that is “winterized” waiting for the summer hiatus …
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Yes… hollow and cold. Waiting to be filled up.
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January is both dark and light, hollow and filled with possibilities ❤️ Quite an elegant poem, Mary! 🙂
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