Secrets, Perhaps, We Cannot Share

She snapped her suitcase shut and slid

it back into the closet, way in the back,

out of the way, shutting away the remnants

of her vacation, the beach sand and bar napkins,

embossed in gold with the bars’ names, a lipstick kiss

where she dabbed a freshened shade of red,

a phone number hastily written that she never called,

tempted as she might have been, but that was last week,

the week before, and now it’s back to the 9 to 5

of her job and the life she had to return to, those

adult responsibilities fated us by age and growing up,

who we are, where we come from, time and place

and parentage, things we can’t escape, and the hidden things

we can’t admit to, secrets, perhaps, we cannot share,

things locked in a suitcase, latched and slidden back into the closet.