gold in my mouth

Quiero dormir un rato,
un rato, un minuto, un siglo;
pero que todos sepan que no he muerto;
que hay un establo de oro en mis labios;
que soy el pequeño amigo del viento Oeste;
que soy la sombra inmensa de mis lágrimas.

da Gacela De La Muerte Oscura-Federico Garcia Lorca

The Girl has grown into a wry conscientious objector (en pointe: biting a guitar she does not know how to play during a party in Avellanas). Living in Central America has stripped her of any a priori definitions of "cool" she had. However, preteens are still preteens no matter where they have spawned from. She manages to take the best of all she has learned and apply it to the sticky situation of gossip, boys, beauty, spanish, amigas. And her best, is, well, the best.

The principal of the school said that The Girl handles each and every situation with complete poise and wisdom. The P.E. teacher said, and I quote, "Your children have been such a blessing to the school. She came here and has made all the boys want to be better men because she is such a strong yet loving girl."

If nothing of me is left here in my sleep, those kids are the gold in my mouth that will speak forever.


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