«If you know her»

IF YOU KNOW HER

If you know your woman, know her rhythms,

know her ways; if you paying attention

to her all these years, you will know

how she comes and goes, how she slips

away even though she is standing in

the same place, you will know that her

world is drifting softly from you, and she

may not mean it, because all it is

is she is scared to be everything, scared

to be finding herself in you every time,

scared that one day she will ask herself,

all forty-plenty years of her, where

she’s been; if you know your woman,

you will know that mostly she will

come back, but sometimes, when she

drifts like this, something can make her

slip; and then coming back is hard.

If you know your woman, you can

tell by the way she puts on heels,

and she does not sashay for you

because it is not about you—how

she will buy some leather boots

and not say a word about it,

and you only see it when she walks

in one night, and she says she’s had

them forever; you will see the way

she loses the weight and pretend

its nothing, but when she isn’t seeing you

looking, you can see how she faces the mirror

lifts her chest to catch a profile,

and how she casually looks at her

ass for signs of life.  If you know

your woman, when you are gone, she

will find things to do, like walk

alone, go see a movie, find a park,

collect her secrets and you won’t know,

because she is looking for herself.

And she won’t tell you that she wants

to hear what idle men say when she

walks by them; because what you say

is not enough.  If you know your

woman, you know when she’s going

away and you will feel the big

hole of your love, and you can’t

tell why she’s listening and humming

to tunes you did not know she heard

before, and she will laugh softly

at nothing at all. If you know your

woman, you will see how she comes

and goes, and all you can do is wait

and pray she will come back to you,

because you know that your sins

are enough for her to leave and not return.

Kwame Dawes (Ghana, 1962)