I sit in my bedroom every night
trying to get all my homework done-
out the window the sun has set
it is dark except for the lamp.

The clock is chiming, telling me it’s ten,
and I start to think of those who lived here before,
the family that sold us the house-
they had two little kids-

They told me about a girl who lived here 100 years ago.
She lived here when times were different
and worries were different.
They didn’t worry about homework, but instead housework.

She didn’t have to spend nights finishing homework
for her tasks were done during the day most likely.
She worked and learned at home;
she didn’t have the pleasure of traveling to and from school each day.

So I take a breath, and think about her-
the chores she had and what was expected from her,
while I have parents bugging me about grades, job, and life
still I’m not done, the only thing that’s changed is time,

For it is now 10:30,
I start to work again,
with the stress building and my frustration growing
I wonder to myself if she ever felt like this.

I still sit here working on it all,
a couple hundred problems for Calc and all of my college applications.
Did she have a couple hundred dishes or clothes to wash.
My work is still not done and all I can seem to think about is that girl!

I try to focus and finish my work
knowing that the differences in our nights
will not change the fact that
I’m still not done;

The work is just too much
for me and maybe for her at that time.
I am trying to finish, but knowing some will not be done
finally I make some progress, but the stress is still there.

For tomorrow I know it will start all over again.

In the manner of Billy Collins’ “House.”