translated by Robin Myers
To reassemble oneself. Proactivity, opportunism: an order.
A tongue, leaving. A gesture, setting sail: a singular place.
You’re the one who answers the interrogations, the one who
stops, identity in hand, at every checkpoint. Copiously. You,
not I, are the loser. Copiously. The bad traffic, suspect of the
rage spilling out onto the world. You’re the one drowning in
your own shadow. You live because another five hundred sol-
diers were tasked with your disappearance. To reassemble
oneself. You, not I, are the one who responds: my chest hides
nothing but the dark honey of the one with neither place nor exit.
From Copy by Dolores Dorantes, translated by Robin Myers. Copyright © 2022 Dolores Dorantes and Robin Myers. Reprinted with the permission of the author, translator, and Wave Books.