even having paid a deposit,
he consults his press,
noting the level of his oregano jar
to script his meals accordingly.
With less space for books,
he must decide
whether he’ll ever actually read
the conjugations of five hundred Spanish verbs.
His diary inked with various colours,
green is assigned to manual tasks
like opening drawers,
gathering, boxing,
the slow dismantling of furniture.
Despite his grand preparations,
he hasn’t yet considered
the reservoir of spirit he’ll need to draw on,
scrubbing and washing from room to room.
In the final hour, a feeling
– exhilaration, perhaps,
with a dash of despair –
will flourish within him,
snagging his mind on memories,
telling him the past has to be mourned.
When he can clean no more,
he’ll gather his bags, stand at the door
and think of the sprinkling of Spanish he’s learned:
they use estar, not ser,
when speaking of someone’s address,
as if to say
all homes
are fleeting.
Opinions? Is the ending totally at odds with the rest of the poem, or does it fit in an unexpected way?
Is it clear that the last verse is set at the end of the cleaning/leaving process from the old apartment?
Titles? This was originally called "Moving", until it made me puke every time I looked at it
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