She sat, a stillness made of granite.
Words trickled from her lips like rain,
Not a storm, but the slow kind
The kind that seeps into soil, unnoticed.
Her eyes, unblinking, carried quiet command,
Each pause a deliberate crack of thunder.
You almost missed the thin sliver of humor—
A shadow tucked between her sentences.
We leaned closer, caught in her current,
Our laughter crouching at the edge of its seat.
But she, unmoved, held her fortress,
The weight of her calm, a dare in itself.
It was the blink—small as a sliver moon—
That finally unraveled us,
Spilled us over into shared hilarity,
Our joy tumbling over her unyielding shore.
Even then, she sat, carved of stone,
Holding us in the kindest captivity.
There is no greater power than restraint,
No stronger punchline than a straight face.