“There are Redwoods in Oakland”
I tell him as we smoke the trees from our fingers to the sky. 
He laughs. 
And laughs and laughs,
until all that is left of us is leaves and branches. 

There are Redwoods in Oakland. 
He doesn’t believe me. 
His voice carries louder than lighting. 
I sit and feel my fingers tingle with anger,
and watch as my sadness scatters to different parts of the room. 
Where the smoke from my lungs rises out of me. 
Filtering through the air in tiny particles, 
from the branches of my lungs through the leaves.

There are Redwoods in Oakland. 
With their red bark raised high,
and their branches soaring toward the Sun.
Where the light falls on the tips of the trees.
High on the hills where we can’t reach them.
Bigger than the trees we smoke between us
But he just laughs and laughs.
As the smoke rises to the clouds.

Ellie Lopez is a writer, photographer and full-time chismosa from Tracy, CA. You can find all her latest chisme on the socials; IG: @missellielopez, Twitter: @missellielopez

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