She, In Echo
She is the hum of music in an empty room,
a whisper of laughter behind closed doors.
Raised among warriors —
brothers who taught her how to fight,
fix,
feel.
She craves songs that make her bones ache,
meals that taste like memory,
and roads that don’t lead home.
She carries sorrow like a second skin,
but still loves too hard,
still hopes too loud.
Shadowed by porcelain dolls
and circus-painted fears,
she keeps light close
and loneliness closer.
Her dreams are green and grey —
Ireland mist,
Boston brick,
a skyline she’s never touched
but knows by heart.
Born in a town where ghosts remember her name,
she walks the line between
what was
and what could be,
with her last name folded into her fists
like a secret.
Copyright © Sarah Moncada | Year Posted 2012
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