Every House Learnt How to Burn

Photo by Jeff Kramer (copied from Flickr)

Photo by Jeff Kramer (copied from Flickr)

One: Is it possible that I once..? That I? That before?

Two: Yes, it is possible that your name.

One:

Two: It is possible the bodies.

One:

Two: It is possible that your name and the bodies. That you once. That before.

One: And the isles? The conversations? The delay?

Two:

One: The houses we abandoned? All those patios?

Two:

One: Did we leave the lights on? Did we leave the doors unlocked?

Two:

One: Were we the ones that on escaping..?

Two: Yes, it’s possible we were the ones. It’s possible; all the patios and all the doors, and all those abandoned houses with the lights on. The delay and the conversations; but not the isles. Those belong to fiction and asylum.

One: Let’s say, was there ever an isle bearing your name? Was there a before? Was there an I?

Two: Yes, there was a name and there were the bodies; a before and an us.

One: There was an I, then. Isles.

Two: It’s also possible that I was lying and that the isles, and the I, and the could have.

One:

Two: It’s also possible that I wasn’t lying and that in present tense there are no hurries and no escapes. No nothing.

One:

Two:

One: Is the isle of us possible?

Two: Yes, it is possible. The journey and the delay. Yes.

One:

Two:

One:

Two:

One:

Two:

One: But, is it also possible you are lying?

Two: Yes, it is possible; the name, the I, the isles.

Translation by Diego Gómez Pickering

Sara Uribe

About Sara Uribe

Sara Uribe lives in northern Mexico. Her most recent book, Antigone Gonzalez (2nd. Edition, South +, 2013), explores strategies documentary writing, conceptual and poetic writing on issues around violence, and body language.

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