from A Woman With No Tongue by Daniela Camacho, translated by Sylvia Beato

                                                                                                                  a blow of sunrise in flowers

                                                                                   leaves me intoxicated from lilac light and nothing

                                                                                                drunk from paralysis and certainty

                                                                                                                        -Alejandra Pizarnik


Intoxicated, no, not from light, no. Drunk and singing psalms, no. The blackest birds of my mouth and the knives, no, from death, no. All the silence and the whimpering of oboes, the prostitute at my window, the moss between my teeth, no. The violent song of cicadas, no, the abyss, no. I drag this stump of a tongue over mute words that already, no, that cry because, no. And this is my prayer, my sweetest curse: No I said no to the hurt.



Daniela Camacho is a Mexican poet, essayist, translator, and professor of literature. She is the author of more than five collections of poetry and has contributed to various international collaborations and creative publications. Her books include En la punta de la lengua (2007), Plegarias para insomnes (2008), imperia (2013), and Experiencia Butoh (2017), which won the Joaquin Xirau Prize in Poetry in 2018.

Sylvia Beato holds an M.F.A. in Poetry and Literary Translation from Queens College CUNY. Her work has appeared in Split This Rock, Europe Now, december magazine, and elsewhere. Her chapbook, Allegiances, is now available from Ghostbird Press.