A Poem of a Woman

I deeply admire her. I couldn’t put my finger on what it was, 

specifically, for too long. 

Then I noticed in silence.

Intentional, beautifully emboldened, 

Silence. 

She knows. 

She knows how words shape. 

How words build or break.  

So she waits. She is not enticed by the dizzying jolt of impulse. 

She knows she is not the initial, instinctual thought 

of an old animal just doing their best to survive.  

So she waits. She chooses. And she chooses well. 

For you. 

She nurtures, so fully, in her silence.