Sinking into the couch cushions like a baby swaddled while
Sandra Bullock falls in love and I’m googling how much her
dress cost in 2002 and debating how much effort
it would take to make a milkshake and I get startled
every time you pop back in to ask if I’m ok.
Wondering what I forgot about the reason you’re so worried,
as Sandra’s running down a New York City street, they never
understand her until the end of the movie when they realize
she’s always been herself, and I have always been ok.
Blinking to unpack your question, remembering of course that
technically I am hurt, not just relaxing, and you’ve always
understood me, always realized that I’m always ok
even when I’m not. But me and Sandy, we are
both ok.
The 365 Poetry Project 