The Woman Below Poem by Hershe Moore

The curtains pull in her scent as it lures me from my bed,
perched in my windowsill
curiosity embraces me on the edge...
What's her name?
The concrete has torn at her feet,
the sewers pull at her hem and the poison has worn out her teeth...
When she passes by I hear em' whisper, 'She belongs to the streets.'
Her song remains hidden with no need for her to speak
She peers over her shoulder with a reflection of me

I smile!
I see where her beauty lies
Even from where I'm sitting it's evident it's in her eyes...
They maintained their sparkle and there's rhythm in her thighs,
Yeah, her dress is withered but she makes it flow like the tides
I'm led to believe the passersby been telling lies
In her pocket is a mustard seed
She can move mountains if she tried

I'm captivated and anticipating when she'll pass back through
I wonder where she's headed
Wonder what she do
Mama say she could part a crowd back in the day and everyone knew
just who she was,
All the men would 'Ooh! '
The women say, ' Awww, she think she's so much.'
Her only response was her signature strut.

I prepare to slumber with her scent lingering on my sheets
Anticipating the morning where once again we'll meet
This time I gotta get closer
Wonder what'd she say to me?
I just wanna see her hands,
hear her voice when she speak
Dear Lord please hear my prayer and let the Angels know,
send someone to watch over me as I do for the woman below.