Women Like This

She come back in with the day still on her. No speech. Just sets the place right. She come in bent, but the bend don’t win; set that weight down clean by the door One thought on the man, two more on the kids, stove in her ear, and the hour gone thin Plate to the rack, hand to the pan, day still alive in the red of her wrist Back half gone, but she portion the dark into food, into touch, into staying with it No grand display — just that low-grade grace that keep a small home lit from within I seen loud men fold with a lighter load; she hold all that quiet and still make more Every day she walk back in whole day hanging off her skin Names in her head, heat on the pan still got enough left to reach for her man Every day she walk back in eyes half done, still holding it Love for the kids, food for the night half of the house stay up by women like this Not one, not her alone — I mean that run of women that carry a block through the night Same face in the glass, same pull in the spine, but supper still rise and the room stay mild School note tucked in with the change and the receipt, one sleeve rolled high past the mark on her arm Mouth say little, but she keep that place from slipping by touch, by timing, by keeping it warm World call it “normal” and flatten the cost; I hear whole years in that word gone mild So when I speak on her, I mean that kind of strength that don’t need witness, don’t need light She don’t enter like a hero. She enter already owed to tomorrow — still finds a hand for the table, a look for the child, a soft word left when the whole day took blood for it. By then the man see dinner, maybe the smile — not the math she been doing since dawn How she split one body six different ways and still make each voice in that house feel heard How she keep one kiss in the mouth for him, one clean line for the kids, one breath for herself How even her silence got labor in it, got order in