You don’t often talk about the strength but I see it.
I see the way your veins thicken with each weight laid on it.
I see the way your veins, green as a garden, hangs onto you despite the weight.
You don’t often talk about the weight of these children but I see it.
I see how your vein thickens when you have them resting on your hipbone, not knowing how much mama is having to hold on.
I see the way both hands shake at the weight of two children, one on each side of your hands.
You seldom talk about how tired you are but I see it.
I see how much you try to not scream; to not scream, even though you’re extremely exhausted.
You never talk to me about the pain because you’ve been told it’s yours to carry and yours to teach me to do same.