She Is the Quiet
by
Jen Ambrose
She is the quiet that settles in after the storm,
not the thunder,
not the flash—
but the stillness that holds the house together
when everyone else forgets to breathe.
She is the hand that never lets go,
even when it seems like she has.
Invisible strength tucked in folded laundry,
school lunches,
and the way she always remembers
what you forgot to say.
She doesn’t ask the world for attention.
She listens for the creak of the floorboards,
knows the weight of each footstep,
feels the shift in the air
when someone needs her.
Her love isn’t loud.
It’s the worn chair at the kitchen table,
the light left on in the hallway,
the way she knew before you did—
what you were carrying.
She is the thread.
Not the needle. Not the fabric.
But the thing that binds it all
so gently
you don’t realize it’s there
until something unravels.
And still, she stays.
Even when she’s tired,
even when her heart is stretching
farther than it should,
she stays.
Not because she has to.
Because she chooses to.
Every day.
Happy Mother's Day!!!
