Driving To My Grandfather's Funeral This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine.

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The air was stale,
even with the windows cracked.
My hands lay still
against the tops of my legs
palms down, elbows out to the side.

It felt like my heart had been disconnected
from all its veins and arteries.
I could feel it rolling around inside my chest,
knocking against the back of my ribs
with each bump. My ears
pulsated from lack of use.

I began to trace the pinstripes
on my left pant leg,
slowly moving the nail of my thumb
along charcoal-colored wool.
Everyone sat one inch apart
eyes glazed and lethargic.

The only thing I could hear was time
following alongside our limousine
with a heavy foot.
There was not a word spoken,
or a breathe exhaled.
I did not dare protest
the silence.

This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. This piece has been published in Teen Ink’s monthly print magazine.






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