The Hollow Poem by cheryl davis miller

Whats happened to the Hollow?
It’s all but disappeared.
It seems that State Route 50;
needs more space from year to year.

Every thing is changing.
Nothing stays the same
So many people live here now
and no one knows their name.

First they came with city water
said we all required it’s use.
Next came the sewage system
septic tanks could not be used.

One by one the neighbors died off
or simply moved away.
Now there are more strangers
in the Hollow every day.

I recall my bare feet hurting
from gravel roads as we’d walk down;
to catch the bus on the ‘hard road’
and get a ride on into town.

I remember as a child
each father had a whistle tone.
In the hills or in the valley
every child knew his own.

“Mary your dads whistlin.'
She'd take off like the wind.
In those days just a whistle
was enough to call us in.

On the porch's families gathered
round a smoldering rag can.
Smoke would keep the bugs away
at least that was the plan.

On the swing would sit Grandma
the others gathered all around.
They’d be talkin or a singin.
We played amidst those precious sounds.

Our sounds of laughter joined their voices
as we chased fireflies.
Lightening bugs made pretty diamonds;
we didn’t know it mean't they’d die.

It was a sweet age of innocence
and not one of us did know.
It would all change in our lifetime
or how we'd miss our Hollow.

c.d.m.3/7/09