Forgotten Impact

A snap — a backfire or a bullet?

My hands clenched the wheel like a ghost

holding on to a moment

my mind has shoved aside.

Knuckles white beneath faded scars,

tension tight as a bowstring pulled

across muscles still taut,

trembling with silent memory.

The street snaps again, cold and raw,

I flinch — not from sound,

but from a body that remembers

what my mind forgot to feel.