Suitcase

Suitcase

It was her birthday.
Someone gave her a large suitcase.
The type that held three smaller ones.
But it was all long ago,
before affluence fled
in an arrival of critical events.
A job loss when she failed,
to master the details,
a man that slipped money
through her satin hand, in tongues.
Now, she was surveying
the middle of San Franscisco
in a cemetary of packed dumpsters
where all that remained
was the suitcase that she wheeled,
a soft airport princess,
tapping lettuce leaves & peaches,
long past their prime.
She saw her reflection,
in a Clocks for Sale window.
Dear God, she said,
look at the time.

Reviews

[W.k.kortas]

Emily has phrased it perfectly; it is complete and eloquent, and elegant to boot. What is between the lines here is almost the equal of what is on them. A fine, fine piece of writing.

[Emily B]

dear God, look at the time!

so complete and eloquent. . . your words always amaze me