The Days Unpack Slowly Sestina Variation
The days unpack slowly from a damaged suitcase.
Click. Click. Click. High heels click on thin linoleum.
Listen to the sounds of doors opening, doors closing.
Dirty dishes slide, swim in pork chop grease;
small dreams vanish like soap bubbles off plated spoons.
Count these hours, those dreams, all bitter—all yours.
Count these hours, those dreams, all bitter—all yours.
The days unpack slowly from a damaged suitcase.
Dreams vanish—soap bubbles off plated spoons.
Click, click. Listen to high heels click on thin linoleum,
dirty dishes that slide, swim in pork chop grease,
sounds of doors opening, sounds of doors closing.
Listen to the sounds of doors opening, doors closing,
listen to those hours, failed dreams—all yours.
They swim like dirty dishes in pork chop grease,
each day unpacking slowly from a damaged suitcase.
Click. Click. Click. High heels click on thin linoleum.
Small dreams vanish—soap bubbles off spoons.
Small dreams vanish like soap bubbles off plated spoons.
Listen to the sounds of doors opening, doors closing,
the click, click, of high heels on thin linoleum.
Count your dreams, those hours, all that is bitter, yours—
days that unpack from a damaged suitcase,
dirty dishes that swim in pork chop grease.
Dirty dishes slide, swim in pork chop grease.
Small dreams vanish like soap bubbles off plated spoons
while days unpack slowly from a damaged suitcase
to the sounds of doors opening, doors closing.
Count your failed dreams: all that is bitter, yours,
the click, click, click of high heels on cheap linoleum.
Click, click—the sound of high heels on cheap linoleum.
Dirty dishes slide, swim in pork chop grease,
the counting of hours, failed dreams. All are yours.
Small dreams vanish like soap bubbles off plated spoons
to the sounds of doors opening, sounds of doors closing
as each day unpacks from a damaged suitcase.
Doors opening, doors closing—all is bitter, all yours:
days unpacking from a damaged suitcase, failed dreams,
soap off plated spoons, dishes in grease, high heels on thin linoleum.
Click.
First published in After Hours, 2012
