Horses
bulls and horses
the slaying lance.

She confessed that she was your real mother, but she was so young that she surrendered you for her older sister to raise. In her account, at least your father was the same.

Squandered. To veil the veiled. Who or what takes charge of what was never developed?

Arid on his crown, he picks up the brush with his guitar fingers. Blue now, the mane keeps growing, or could it be the skin drying out?

They know nothing of the living.

You find laps that sheltered you and the same bosoms nursed you, although he eats from the dish of lentils and what must be eaten unsalted.

CHILDHOOD ISN’T SOMETHING YOU CAN HAVE.

although

YOU CAN LOSE IT

Use lipstick

to make people like you

Alone
amid marble steps
You shiver in the living room
and assume the irreversible:

You picked out mother’s dress. It was black.

From deep in the chasms, hear my voice!

with golden threads
death
doesn’t sprawl out on the couch

“No one’s going to find you here if you don’t make noise, not even the one you make when you suck in your boogers.”

You pay them in memory, unstable currency of each and every day.

Squandered. To veil the veiled. Who or what takes charge of what was never developed?

You find laps that sheltered you and the same bosoms nursed you, although he eats from the dish of lentils and what must be eaten unsalted.

Horses
bulls and horses
the slaying lance.

They know nothing of the living.

She confessed that she was your real mother, but she was so young that she surrendered you for her older sister to raise. In her account, at least your father was the same.

CHILDHOOD ISN’T SOMETHING YOU CAN HAVE.

although

YOU CAN LOSE IT

You picked out mother’s dress. It was black.

From deep in the chasms, hear my voice!

Arid on his crown, he picks up the brush with his guitar fingers. Blue now, the mane keeps growing, or could it be the skin drying out?

Use lipstick

to make people like you

Alone
amid marble steps
You shiver in the living room
and assume the irreversible:

with golden threads
death
doesn’t sprawl out on the couch

“No one’s going to find you here if you don’t make noise, not even the one you make when you suck in your boogers.”

CHILDHOOD IS HAD IN THE PRESENT,

in the preterite

OF WHAT DOESN’T HAPPEN.

You pay them in memory, unstable currency of each and every day.

Facing a drab mirror,
rub your eyes
like the squares of an empty market.

Close your eyes and swallow the host of your lineage in a single mouthful.

It will only be real and intense when it detaches from the stalk and its essence dries.

Everything at once, said Mozart, who one day heard the whole composition in a single line. Those who leave, we’re the eagle flying over the monolith.

Sipping
swallowing
licking

cup-fraction
where her lips
could
have left behind
a drop.

Who is a sea monster or a tempestuous ocean so that his storm may be a leviathan constrained by the tongue?

Squandered. To veil the veiled. Who or what takes charge of what was never developed?

You find laps that sheltered you and the same bosoms nursed you, although he eats from the dish of lentils and what must be eaten unsalted.

CHILDHOOD ISN’T SOMETHING YOU CAN HAVE.

although

YOU CAN LOSE IT

Horses
bulls and horses
the slaying lance.

They know nothing of the living.

You picked out mother’s dress. It was black.

From deep in the chasms, hear my voice!

Use lipstick

to make people like you

CHILDHOOD IS HAD IN THE PRESENT,

in the preterite

OF WHAT DOESN’T HAPPEN.

Facing a drab mirror,
rub your eyes
like the squares of an empty market.

It will only be real and intense when it detaches from the stalk and its essence dries.

She confessed that she was your real mother, but she was so young that she surrendered you for her older sister to raise. In her account, at least your father was the same.

with golden threads
death
doesn’t sprawl out on the couch

“No one’s going to find you here if you don’t make noise, not even the one you make when you suck in your boogers.”

You pay them in memory, unstable currency of each and every day.

Who is a sea monster or a tempestuous ocean so that his storm may be a leviathan constrained by the tongue?

Arid on his crown, he picks up the brush with his guitar fingers. Blue now, the mane keeps growing, or could it be the skin drying out?

Close your eyes and swallow the host of your lineage in a single mouthful.

Everything at once, said Mozart, who one day heard the whole composition in a single line. Those who leave, we’re the eagle flying over the monolith.

Sipping
swallowing
licking

cup-fraction
where her lips
could
have left behind
a drop.

You find laps that sheltered you and the same bosoms nursed you, although he eats from the dish of lentils and what must be eaten unsalted.

Squandered. To veil the veiled. Who or what takes charge of what was never developed?

CHILDHOOD ISN’T SOMETHING YOU CAN HAVE.

although

YOU CAN LOSE IT

Horses
bulls and horses
the slaying lance.

They know nothing of the living.

Use lipstick

to make people like you

You picked out mother’s dress. It was black.

with golden threads
death
doesn’t sprawl out on the couch

“No one’s going to find you here if you don’t make noise, not even the one you make when you suck in your boogers.”

She confessed that she was your real mother, but she was so young that she surrendered you for her older sister to raise. In her account, at least your father was the same.

You find laps that sheltered you and the same bosoms nursed you, although he eats from the dish of lentils and what must be eaten unsalted.

Squandered. To veil the veiled. Who or what takes charge of what was never developed?

CHILDHOOD ISN’T SOMETHING YOU CAN HAVE.

although

YOU CAN LOSE IT

Horses
bulls and horses
the slaying lance.

They know nothing of the living.

You picked out mother’s dress. It was black.

From deep in the chasms, hear my voice!

She confessed that she was your real mother, but she was so young that she surrendered you for her older sister to raise. In her account, at least your father was the same.

CHILDHOOD IS HAD IN THE PRESENT,

in the preterite

OF WHAT DOESN’T HAPPEN.

Arid on his crown, he picks up the brush with his guitar fingers. Blue now, the mane keeps growing, or could it be the skin drying out?

Use lipstick

to make people like you

Facing a drab mirror,
rub your eyes
like the squares of an empty market.

Squandered. To veil the veiled. Who or what takes charge of what was never developed?

Horses
bulls and horses
the slaying lance.

She confessed that she was your real mother, but she was so young that she surrendered you for her older sister to raise. In her account, at least your father was the same.

They know nothing of the living.

Use lipstick

to make people like you

You find laps that sheltered you and the same bosoms nursed you, although he eats from the dish of lentils and what must be eaten unsalted.

CHILDHOOD ISN’T SOMETHING YOU CAN HAVE.

although

YOU CAN LOSE IT

You picked out mother’s dress. It was black.

with golden threads
death
doesn’t sprawl out on the couch

From deep in the chasms, hear my voice!

CHILDHOOD IS HAD IN THE PRESENT,

in the preterite

OF WHAT DOESN’T HAPPEN.

Facing a drab mirror,
rub your eyes
like the squares of an empty market.

“No one’s going to find you here if you don’t make noise, not even the one you make when you suck in your boogers.”

Sara Camhaji

visualize the voice of thought.
think the image of the voice.
provoke destiny. play.
from chance, from the sigh.
understand the force that links
the image to the name.
the name is an image.
the image is a verb.
play. nothing is chance.
destiny is a game.
everything is destiny.

This site is part of the project "DON´T TAKE PHOTOS OF THE LANDSCAPE; TAKE PORTRAITS WITH THE VIEW OF THE BACKGROUND IF YOU LIKE", whose creative object revolves around the phenomenon of memory and its conceptual visualization. Thus, Sara explores the different languages on which the mind reloads its truth and the way it constructs our inner world.
About
SARA CAMHAJI (Mexico City, 1986) is a writer, teacher, and mother. Her work is a natural response to her lived experience and the emotional dimensions she has inhabited. She has told and written stories for her entire life. Poetry—the axis of her exploration—has prompted her to develop new discursive forms in close contact with inner human reality; wrenching, they open themselves to embodiment and appropriation. She has a master’s in creative writing, two children, and two published works: Maleza (Alboroto Ediciones, 2022) and this one. A selection of her poems appeared in the UNAM’s Periódico de Poesía. She received a grant from Asylum Arts in 2017 and was awarded the Peleh Fund arts residency in Berkeley, California, for 2023. Narrated poetry or poetic narrative? Sara writes in the voice of an archive with a voice of its own, like a thinking time machine, or from the dark sincerity of she-who-didn’t-know-she-had-to-live.
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