she never

by shira

i never used to run like you
through fields at night or houses in morning
i advertised my family's fortune
to anyone who'd knock on our door
to any ghost who had a backseat
big enough for my suitcase

i'd sit up afternoons to make my break
while the rest of the rooms were asleep
i'd stare out my window to plot out great awakenings
in empty boxes, among bruises and brooms

but she never wanted to join me
and she never understood a word
i said
asleep or awake
in one language or another
because our lineages only cross
at broken bridges and burnt telephone wires