Silent Grind

The classroom waits.

Desks sit heavy in a breath held tight.

Then, a twist—the sharpener hums,

silver blade spinning inside its cage.

A pencil groans,

wood shaving spirals like slow smoke.

Sharpness breaking the hush,

a small sound made urgent by silence.

I watch the metal gleam, hungry and bright,

biting down on graphite’s dull edge.

It shaves away the dull and the old,

a whispered promise that something’s ready,

pointed and waiting.

The hum trails off.

A single sliver falls, a tiny sharp thing

left behind,

quiet but impossible to ignore.