The Young Housewife
By William Carlos Williams
At ten A.M. the young housewife
moves about in negligee behind
the wooden walls of her husband’s house.
I pass solitary in my car.
Then again she comes to the curb
to call the ice-man, fish-man, and stands
shy, uncorseted, tucking in
stray ends of hair, and I compare her
to a fallen leaf.
The noiseless wheels of my car
rush with a crackling sound over
dried leaves as I bow and pass smiling.
1) OMG IT’S EPIC
2) OMG IT’S LIKE AN AFFAIR
3) OMG IT’S LIKE “LUZ”
4) OMG IT’S REALLY EPIC @-)
I don’t get how it’s like Luz… :|
She’s only attractive to him when she’s behind the walls of her house, unknown and unknowable (thus somehow being in darkness). When she steps into the light of the real world, he sees her for what she really is, and all the mystique is gone. It’s like how “Luz” plays with identity and how we’re different people in the darkness than who we are in the light, and how sometimes choosing darkness and ignorance is better than harsh enlightenment.