Driving To My Grandfathers Funeral

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 right pant leg,
slowing moving the nail of my thumb
along the charcoal colored wool.
Everyone sat one inch apart as eyes glazed.

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 break
the silence.