The speaker begins by taking stock of what she has been handed: a grandmother's suitcase holding a blue apron, sensible shoes, and amber beads. These are plain, practical things, and they seem to define a life of duty and restraint. She says she knows how to speak, yet "to get up I fall down," which suggests that nothing comes easily. Her mind feels crowded and noisy, full of "shadows" that "jabber," while her body is "locked with words."
Then the poem turns to wanting. She asks to be taught how to run, sweat, and breathe, and she asks for satin dresses, high heels, fire, wings, lemons, and a yellow scarf. These bright, physical things stand against the dull inheritance of the suitcase. By the end she is pleading and in tears, admitting "I never learned to dance." The mood is raw and urgent, a mix of ache and hope, like someone knocking on a door from the inside.