By Zarah Parker

My hands lay open on my lap.
They twitch as they yearn
to tighten,
instead I fight them calm.

Built in my chest is the quickest fury
that climbs the ladder of my throat.
My mouth holds still,
nothing is released.

Rivers fill my vision, it blurs,
and I cannot blink.
For the river may overflow
and leave a trail on my cheek.

A smile spreads on my face—
my breathing is steady.
There are no rapid movements;
no trace of evidence.