this poem was written at 2:30am after I woke up from a bad dream about this particular “You”. In the dream, they were naming constellations with another woman. So funny the way something so simple like naming constellations could set me off so much that I jolted awake and wrote this piece! Perhaps I’m too sentimental. Anyway, it’s barely edited and I would like to keep it that way. There was something so raw about how I felt when I wrote this that I want to maintain.
She will know you by your name.
By the bounce in your walk, by the touch of your hand.
This woman, the new one, she will know your voice
She will know you by the scent on your neck
She will know you by the brand of coffee in your pantry
She will know your stomach against her back and your hair in her fingers and your voice behind her ear.
But she will not know you, me.
She will not not know you by the way your body curled up beside mine on a 30 degree morning
She will not know you, voice cracking in the backseat of my car, your eyes looking up at me for once, your hand on my chest and your jeans unbuttoned
She will not know you bated breath, your hands on my waist, the hours slipping away from us as it thunders, and the promise of our future eager beneath our skin
She will not know you whispering my name, your eyes closing, something like a cry in your throat, something like a crack in our love.
She will not know you standing across the bed from me, tunnel vision, telling me all the ways you come apart around me, and the ways I fall apart around you
She may know me by name.
She may know me by photo.
I know that you will tell her.
But she will not know that in knowing you, she shall know me in every way that matters
In knowing you, she shall know my heartbeat, my breath
She shall know what makes me fall apart.
She shall know the crack in chest
The bruise on my brain
The joy laced between my teeth
This woman. The new one. I believe I will like her.
She shall be just like me, after all.