Writing

  • On Guard

    My objects come to life—they get angry and scold me, because the desire to try slips away through my gaze.


  • Doctor Talacha

    So, I think I'd like you to tell me that everything's fine, that underneath everything's fine, that there are scratches and dents, but that everything's fine.


  • The Great Longing

    The world is beastly, roguish, wicked — little garden angels. I have not seen freedom on the hot asphalt, suffocated by rubber, by shoes worn out from fatigue, by baby strollers, by urine, by saliva, by tears. 


  • A Woman’s Death

    They call you dead who do not know you live behind eyelids, inside too-long-unopened drawers, on some postcard lost enroute, tucked into a postman’s back pocket.


  • The Echo of What I Ask For 

    I walk against the wind, feeling my body clothe itself in tremor. I have lost my lucidity amid the dazzling, strange lights of this city. 


  • Jacaranda

    The jacaranda tree at my house and I share the same age. In 1987, she was planted in a garden bed in Santa María Morelia, and I was taken from María Emma’s womb.


  • Shuffle

    I walk with the feeling of listening to the same thing twice. The street imitates the song, or the song imitates the street. I take off one earbud for a second, just to make sure the city is still there.


  • Another example

    At the summit of Wat Tham Suea, at the feet of the Buddha, a yellow butterfly circled me.


  • Unironed garments

    Pasajeros se entrelazan, chaquetas sin usar, mentes sin usar, fusionándose, desplazándose, moviéndose…


  • Luck

    Without appetite, without strength, I am an apparition in my own home, where my family stopped seeing me long ago and, when they do, it is with the firm conviction of avoiding me like a flying insect that exists only to bother others.


  • Eve

    Though for some it may seem like a childish exaggeration, like that fear or thrill from childhood of feeling chased by the moon, I know the sun will never again cast its shadow in quite the same way.


  • Down Here

    Lo sabía, sabía que el último tren había dejado la estación desde hacía mucho, ese tren que podía llevarme a páramos maravillosos donde el amor y el calor me bañarían constantemente…


  • You Embraced My Nakedness

    Lo único que recuerdo de aquella escena es un abrazo que te hizo quedarte y que yo no huyera de aquel momento, ese abrazo nos hizo quedarnos… 


  • Three Hours of Eternity

    Eternity can also be three hours of kisses: in the front seat, in the darkness downtown, with your favorite song on loop until dawn.


  • Before the River Rises

    Ghost with wide eyes, wandering in the background of photographs and in the reflection of windows: you often stroll through my mind with your light gait that makes me smile, as if your memory were an inside joke I speak about with myself when I’m alone.


  • I Want to Dream with You

    Quiero soñar contigo… y con la luna y su lado oscuro; ese lado que nadie en la Tierra jamás ha visto.


  • Our Hours

    But, no, this is not us. This is not ours. This is not me.


  • Soft Days

    The landscape is still there, quiet, patient, while life begins to grow again in the corners where you are no longer.


  • Glasses and Promises

    I want to lose myself in your eyes like in streets without a map, drink your laughter like the oldest wine.


  • Today I Woke Up

    I woke up wanting to go to the movies, but I remembered there aren’t any left. I also woke up wanting to read a book, but they stopped printing them long ago. Today I woke up wanting to know the news, but I remembered everything always gets worse.


  • Your Name

    I don’t like your name. I never have. But your name was carried by someone I always loved.


  • Resurrection

    In a living Stations of the Cross, I walk. I carry the cross of my decisions: for choosing to live life like a Shakespearean play, for choosing to render it into poetry on this page.


  • I Hope You’re Proud

    The kind of piercing memory that arrives when you doubt yourself. Like the feeling of leaving home and sensing that something is missing. Like forgetting the last item on the grocery list.


  • Edge

    Respirar, una mañana blanca e intentar y sospechar y volver a intentar después de que el filo de todas las injusticias que se acumulan en tu sonrisa me hayan abierto de par en par en paralelo…


  • The Photos We Chose

    When you develop film, you have the negative of everything you shot, but the photograph is consummated only once you have the positive, whether in black and white or color. Therefore, the negative is like an abstraction: a guide toward the final image.


  • Backlit

    I think of you in empty cafes and broken lights, in melodies no one understands but we do.


  • Uruapan

    Your cry rose above the silence of the graves. It searched, in the deepest recesses of souls, for the will surrendered to fear.


  • The Statues

    Never had I seen such a beautiful statue so forgotten: “Reading contemporary novels, woman of oxidized copper.”


  • Manic Episode 1.0

    I run up and downstairs, up and downstairs, turn my room upside down, and tidy it up again. It's spotless, but the cup I'd poured myself is cold again, and I resign myself to using the microwave.


  • Something About the Sea, Time, and Space

    The sea, then, existed for me only in my imagination. At home, we had a black bookcase that barely stood on tiny legs that were always about to give way, which we had to prop up with folded magazine paper. We called it “the little bookcase.” On top of it, as in many homes in Mexico, a seashell served as an ornamental piece.