The unseen strength of woman,
A child on her hips and a husband on her mind,
With dinner to cook
And a PTA meeting to organize,
It doesn’t even cross her mind,
Those words, “thank you.”
The unseen strength of woman,
Five-inch-heels so sharp
They should really be called a spike,
Matching step for step
The confident stride of
The tailored pant legs around her.
Stumbling is not an option.
The unseen strength of woman,
Bearing the slow insult
Of one gray hair,
Knowing that soon she’ll have to add
Dye to the collection
Of tint and color and paint,
Because the men stop paying
Once youth checks out.
The unseen strength of woman,
With an eye for cloth swaths
And a penchant for fabric
And hands that know another language
Stitched silently across the hem line.
The unspoken sacrifice.
The unseen strength of woman,
Buried beneath a waistline of toil
Or the perfection scraped by
In a perfectly plucked eyebrow;
They pass each other in the street and
One nods to the other,
And both vow
Never to betray the other –
Weary.
Quill Aquiver 