Unsung Heroes

are the women

invisible to most

except when hunger strikes

or fear

or someone else’s baby is crying

the ones with embraces that

ease the pain of a hard day

a failed venture

always putting you first even

at their own expense.

The ones who escape the

pangs of missed opportunities

by drowning their sorrows

in the filthy water

of your dishes

shielding tears and

soft wimpers

with a nurturing word

of encouragement

for you to live your best life.

The ones whose best

lives have been lived

in lucid daydreams between

towels and socks

between signature dishes

and brown bags of lunch

stolen moments

of simple indulgence

where you often reside

a future version of you

where your heroism is

sung and your

pangs aren’t real and your

shoulders are draped

in luxurious satin

your smile sparkles with

pride and good hygiene

and your feet do not ache

and your dreams don’t get folded

into laundry.