Question

Short poem about a loaded question

I’ll never forget the way
he saw right through me
He looked at my face
the one I thought was blank
my calm still expression attempting to hide the buzzing thought
that lay just beneath the surface
But he looked at me
and sensed the rushing waters underneath

His was not a blind guess
His was not a curious inquiry at a random point in time
His was a gentle lifting of the cool demeanor
to expose the fluttering whirlwind he himself
had created with a seemingly innocent question…
“What are you thinking about, Seniorita?”