Silent Was the Mightiest Sound
She drove in the morning in
veil-like fogs, hair whipped in
a stream of windows, cracked. Like
slick, black snakes, her leather
skin faced days, days, and yet
more days, with a cigarette lit so
her red embers glow in the dimness.
A puff from her nostrils, another
from her lips, her trembling hands
subside on the wheel, save for two
fingers with a smoke-stick stuck
between them. It wasn't the hum
of the engine, or the rasp in her
breath. No, it was her silence
that taught us mostly, ours and
hers alike. When days, days, and
more days passed, silent was her
sound, and it was the mightiest
sound of them all.
Copyright © Chad Wood | Year Posted 2011
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