that’s what she
calls me

her cry baby
her dramática
her chillona

rolling her eyes
while i whine in the corner
scratching at the wood

i’m sensitive
i squeal
i want her to look at me

so i swallow a handful of salt
pretend i’ve turned into a saint
or a land-gasping fish

i pull a rosary from the drawer
wrap it around my wrist and
say look, i’m holy too

she tells me to hush
that the beans will burn

but the house is full of smoke
her memory, her ghosts
voice like wood

i am everything
you ignore

the water running
the floor creaking
the girl crying in the next room
for no reason at all





Rose Marie Torres is a Mexican-American multi-genre writer from rural South Texas. A recent graduate of Louisiana State University, Rose earned her MFA in Creative Writing in 2025 and now teaches English and Screenwriting there as an adjunct professor. Her poetry and prose is available or forthcoming in The Good Life Review, Bicoastal Review, Atlanta Review, Lunch Ticket, and more. She has been graciously supported by Lambda Literary and Tin House. And, in her free time, Rose is a AMC Stubs A-List member, karaoke enthusiast, and friend.

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