We're Fine

We're Fine

The walls learned first.

They memorized every apology,

every slammed door,

every plate that shattered

just before the children came home.

When someone asked,

they smiled.

We're fine.

The children learned next.

They learned how to laugh

at the correct volume.

How to answer,

"Everything's great."

How to recognize footsteps

before recognizing themselves.

They became experts

at surviving conversations

that never happened.

We're fine.

The neighbors knew.

The teachers suspected.

The pastor prayed.

The doctor hesitated.

Everyone saw smoke.

No one knocked.

Because smoke

is easier to explain away

than fire.

We're fine.

Years later,

the children grew older.

One became silent.

One became angry.

One became successful.

One became impossible to love—

or so they believed.

Each carried the same sentence

into different lives.

Different houses.

Different marriages.

Different mirrors.

We're fine.

Funny thing about lies.

They don't always convince others.

Sometimes

they become the only language

the speaker remembers.

And so another child

answers another question

with another practiced smile.

We're fine.