Sara Uribe                                                                              in Spanish  



                                                                   For Santos Reyes



the speechless woman was made of dust

detritus from her years my own


someone (it's your sister my father said)

turns a page

clips an ad from the newspaper

lifts her hand to stop a taxi

she hurries, it's not her desire to arrive late

passengers headed to / please board


someone: that one: the speechless woman

for this effect could one

in order to replace the terms

repetition / cacophony

use the word sister?


could prosthesis



leave the doors

could one



like the name

as it bursts


pass through rooms

would it be possible / impossible

the childhood that did not


maybe identical

the shadow

the lunar mole / solar plot

the bipartite?


maybe renters

who take over

the building

and deposit


in the courts?


nothing more murky

than the closeness

of that outsider

that woman my father

brought home

without warning



in the glass

that slips

and plummets


in the splinters'

banquet / filings



like the flash

of a photograph

that never / that no one / what no one

has coins to flip? / so no one

brings bread to their mouth

in the face of hunger / the last name


the woman who recently disembarked was no one


I turned away from her at the wrong moment

in her eyes the verb bifrontal

the verb lip-corner / the catalogue of absences

the vapor

the seed


what thing is symmetry?

a cornice?



the word

the half


of that word

that we have left


what do we have left

if the others

are us


our bed

its sheets


and the kiss / signal

to sleep

and in her mouth

to burn?


because someone (it's your sister my father said)

let's use: she

let's use: cut and paste

the speechless woman

nescient like you

her whole life

of the loom's long lines

eats breakfast this morning

at your table

and you ask yourself if she'll spend the night

in the room next door

if she will get up at the hour

to resort

to the margins


if dreamlike

with you she initiated

a dialogue of dust

the edges / if her voice



Translated by John Pluecker




Sara Uribe is from Querétaro, Mexico but has lived in the border state of Tamaulipas since 1996. She has published six books: Lo que no imaginas, Palabras más palabras menos, Nunca quise detener el tiempo, Goliat, Antígona González and Siam. Her poems have appeared in periodicals and anthologies in Mexico, Peru, Spain, Canada and the United States.

John Pluecker is a writer, interpreter, translator and co-founder of the language justice and literary experimentation collaborative Antena. His texts have appeared in journals in the U.S. and Mexico, including The Volta, Mandorla, Aufgabe, and Literal. He has translated numerous books from the Spanish, including most recently Tijuana Dreaming: Life and Art at the Global Border (Duke University Press, 2012). His most recent chapbook is Killing Current (Mouthfeel Press, 2012).