A generous girl would keep your secrets but it has been a week since my sister returned from rehab and her scent is foreign to me.

There is no ghost of her I’d ask to see, to know again the way my father knows his lonely.

I am the wolf of this story, grounded bad and sharply loud. No home to call my own. No red child to show me small love, small nourishing.

There is a candle.
There is also fire.