From the grip of fingers on a steering wheel;
the line of a closed mouth;
the precise angle of eyelashes —
I can divine sorrow — anger — love — rage;
all the varied flavors of silence.
I have been trained in this since birth;
a disciple of a stern faith.
I can express anger as I place my hands in my pockets;
grief while buttoning my shirt;
affection in the angle of my shoulders.
But other disciples are rare —
I have never met a mistress of this faith —
someone who can read "I love you" in the tilt of my head
or "I am frightened" as I lace up my boots.