Silent Queen of Hearts
2025-05-11
She walks in quiet thunder,
a hush wrapped in strength,
the kind forged in hours
no one counts,
in sacrifices made
without witness or praise.
They call her “Mama”
in voices small and growing,
in shouts and sighs and midnight cries,
and she answers,
always,
with hands that mend
and eyes that hold.
She carries whole galaxies
in her chest:
grocery lists and lullabies,
doctor’s notes,
forgotten dreams folded neat
between the laundry.
Her love is the architecture of home,
invisible,
but holding up every wall.
She weaves herself
into routine and ritual,
her name worn down
to a whisper
only the soul remembers.
She is both root and bloom,
grounded,
giving,
and still somehow reaching
toward light.
And though the world may not always say it,
we do:
We see the grace stitched into your tired limbs,
the fierce, unyielding bloom
beneath your gentleness.
You are the quiet miracle,
the first heartbeat,
the last word,
the echo that makes us whole.
You are seen.
You are loved.
And in every ordinary hour,
you are extraordinary.
Happy Mother’s Day—
you are the gift we never stop receiving.
By Jo K.