The woman I am

Then there are your urgent hands
on me that fetch me from sleep
from its solitude I hang between
you and the earth and outside

it is raining again finally faint
in the suburb’s lights my window
admits nothing the dead quiet but
our breathing as our bodies shift

shape find another space by which
to measure the distances
from the solitary
to this your urgent hands

mine my hand like a cradle
holding you there yours
speak through sleep 3 a.m.
and I listen, ear nestling

your pubis shoulder between
your legs the language of
listen of the body your weight
then on me the bed has turned

and we sleep, we sleep, we sleep.

Then we wake, we wake and you dress,
dress and leave as you must. You leave.
Leave leave leave the woman
I admit I said I wish I was

the woman I am between your legs
the man you wish you were
between mine that man
who parts my legs who fetches

me from sleep that man you
become a man when you leave
and the woman I am
sleeps all day your urgent hands

a language of dream
of 3 a.m. of the rain at the window
the woman me I am the woman
who waits, who waits, who sits

and waits and touches herself
one palm cradling herself
this woman I am how I want
you to hold me like that

from This Carting Life (© Kwela Books/Snailpress/Rustum Kozain)


One Response to The woman I am

  1. Doodlebug says:

    And I especially like this one.

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