Until – Reviewed
It’s not possible to
print the first words
unsaid: the lady with folding curls and
an echo that resounds
out in calling and blisters does
her husband’s ironing so he might
have a shirt for his work and
…
You may find the rest of the poem here.
Until
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Analysis
This poem moves in cycles, much like the woman’s work. She irons her husband’s shirt, hums a tune, and keeps going. There is no clear beginning or end—just repetition. The structure of the poem reflects this, with broken lines and unfinished thoughts that make it feel like something continuous, something done over and over. The repetition of “trill trilling” and “To till and into tomorrow” reinforces this idea. Her humming and her labor are connected, both ongoing, both part of her daily life. The final word, “Till —,” is left unfinished, suggesting that the work isn’t done and never will be.
The focus is on small, ordinary moments. The wife is making sure her husband is prepared for his day, ironing his shirt while her own stays wrinkled. That contrast says a lot. She smooths things out for him, but there is no mention of anyone doing the same for her. The poem doesn’t outright say she is overlooked, but it doesn’t have to. The imbalance is in the details, in the way her needs seem secondary. She hums through it, as if trying to lighten the weight of her routine, as if making the work seem less heavy.
The rhythm of the poem is uneven, which fits the subject. Her routine is steady, but there are things pulling at her, “tugging her out of place.” Some moments move smoothly, others snag. The way the lines break creates pauses, little stops and starts, like the rhythm of breathing, of working, of moving through the day. The repetition of “trill trilling” suggests movement, but not progress. It’s a habit, a sound, something done again and again. The word “trilling” is light, almost cheerful, but it also sounds like “tilling,” which connects it to labor, to effort, to something being worked over and over.
Light appears briefly in the poem—“pooling then sinking.” It suggests time passing, the way days slip by unnoticed. It also mirrors the woman’s work—her effort gathers in small moments, but then disappears. The light fades, just as her labor fades, unacknowledged. There is no grand moment where she stops and is thanked, no recognition. The work simply continues.
The first line, “It’s not possible to print the first words unsaid,” sets the tone for the rest of the poem. It hints at something that cannot be fully spoken. Maybe words she has never said out loud, maybe emotions she doesn’t have space for. The poem itself is full of what is left unsaid. There is no direct complaint, no open frustration, but there is weight underneath. She keeps working, keeps humming, but no one acknowledges it. The poem’s broken structure mirrors this—lines trailing off, thoughts left unfinished, just like the woman’s own feelings.
The ending doesn’t give closure. “Till —” could mean “until,” suggesting something might change, or it could simply mean “till” as in work, reinforcing the idea of endless labor. Either way, it leaves the reader in that space of repetition, where the wife keeps working, keeps humming, keeps going unnoticed. The poem doesn’t try to resolve anything because nothing in her life is resolved. The routine continues, and so does she.
Photo by Jim DiGritz on Unsplash
