Gabriela Michelle

I’m little. Missing two front teeth and nothing bad has happened yet. 

          The sterling silver on her finger twist around flesh and burns where it sits when her hands push together in a prayer, knees digging in the ground while she pleads her case on apples and Adam.
          
          Answer to my grandmother and will that she does not burn your domain to ashes for her children.
          
          God will beg for my forgiveness.       -mujeres

          The trees whisper, so disconnected from the roots of my own that I cannot decipher their lullabies.

          
          Fear sits on the top of her head like innocence of true gospel and preachers with rosaries severing the tips of our tongues. 
          
          I don’t think they want us to talk about love.