If you’re reading this in English,
it already means we’re far away
from each other. Maybe we’re far away together
because English is the only language I write in.
But sometimes my thoughts pop out in Portuguese
like from a suitcase that came with me.
English fills my mouth with its hard edges
cutting so it fits better.
Can two languages live inside one person
without bumping into each other?
Does one spread its legs
limbs stretched like branches
forcing the other to pull its skin
closer to its bones—
does that one become thin?
The first time I dreamt in English, I was happy—
a sign I’d been waiting for
I’m sorry. Eu não sabia.
Sometimes even my tios and primos speak English
in my dreams.
English taking jobs.
English filling the rooms my grandparents should live in.