Fine

Someone asked how I was doing

and meant it—I could tell

by the way they stopped walking,

the way they looked at my face

like they were actually asking.

I said fine.

On the train home I rehearsed

the honest answer. Stop by stop.

Forty minutes of saying it

to no one, in my head—

not the details, just the shape:

I'm not, actually.

Haven't been for a while.

I'm tired in the way that sleep

doesn't quite reach.

I said this to no one.

Got off at my stop.

Made dinner.

Opened my phone to type it to someone—

the screen went dark

before I finished the sentence.

I'm writing it here

because a page doesn't say

oh no, or have you tried—

a page doesn't need anything back.

It just holds.

Which is what I keep asking for

from people

and apparently that's too specific a request.