Reign Poem by Henrietta Ezegbe

She does not arrive loudly.
No announcement.
No need to prove anything.

She learned the hard way
that power lasts longer
when it is not summoned to perform.

Once, she furnished rooms
that never bore her name.
Held silence like a promise.
Mistook survival for virtue.

Then something shifted,
not with ceremony,
not all at once.

She stepped inward.
Closed doors with care.
Not from emotion,
but from precision.

Now she reigns in chambers.
No audience required.
Walls breathe.
Windows open only
to what does not flinch at her light.

She tends herself
as one tends relics,
clean hands, unhurried time.
Feeds the quiet.
Listens before responding.
Leaves before she is expected to shrink.

Her strength does not waver.
It knows the weight of rest.

She is no longer waiting
to be chosen
or understood.
She is home.
Aligned.
Unnegotiably hers.

And if she extends an invitation
it is not for rescue
or elevation,
not a savior
and not a sacrifice.
But to stand level
without asking her to dim.

This is not dominance.
It is custody of the self.
Not isolation
but sovereignty.

Not becoming.
She reigns.