Know my hips

A revised publication of Hips

“I know her favorite color,

what books she reads,

what she would choose on Netflix.”

She knew what he assumed.

But what did he know?

With a slow slide of her hip,

a memory in a mirror,

a serpentine arm motion

as she brewed her coffee, she sighed.

Would he ever ask?

Photo from Pexels

He didn’t know the story behind these hips,

the motion that used to flow so easily,

listening to Habibi-Ya-Einy and Enta Omri

and the jingle of small coins

clinking together on a bright scarf.

She couldn’t punish him for

not knowing, not asking

but she would wake up

in the middle of the night,

look over, and whisper:

You don’t know me

Thank you especially to the amazing writer, K.E. Kimball for amazing revision suggestions and her reworking!