No theme

As usual I feel write without any theme, but I know in advance that it is not necessary to have one to dress a white sheet of paper with words. Although in this case I am not writing with pencil or pen in hand, but I do it on the keyboard of the computer: at the same time I see on the monitor how one sign or letter adds to another and that other to many others. This is how I give body—every text requires one—to what I am supposed to write and that from the outset I assume as a discursive exercise that does not obey any prior plan or structure. Which may mean that I have no idea and I don't think I am in a position to know what it is that I want to express and put in writing in this space. This is possibly because spring is at its peak – April is the cruelest month and the most beautiful too – and the pollen from the flowers spreads everywhere. I think my nose is overly sensitive and my morning allergies are more intense than usual. My runny nose is like a small river that I can't contain. I already finished the package of napkins that was in the cupboard. I made ginger tea with lemon that I drink now, without the symptoms mentioned diminishing for the moment. My respiratory discomfort continues and prevents me from constructing a full, fluid and consistent speech. Between sneezes and sneezes, I write this text, which I suppose has no intention whatsoever, other than to fulfill the task of doing so. And here I am typing, browsing, peering – too many gerunds – into territories that perhaps no one – not even myself – is interested in traveling through. Of course, what I say may not be entirely true, since all writing worth its salt arises from a lack of knowledge and whoever writes only needs—without further pretension—to find the line of light or the hole made by the lock of a door; or that of a small crack in the wall, to glimpse, remove, undress and turn into language what asks or requires to be named.

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Ernestina Yépiz. Poet and narrator. Master in Literature, graduated from the Faculty of Philosophy and Letters of the UNAM; and has a degree in Political Science, graduated from the Autonomous University of Sinaloa. She is the author of the collections of poems The penumbra of the landscape, Los delirios de Eva and Los conjuros del cuerpo; from the book of stories The Café on Mulberry Street and the novel El Sueño de Paloma Sanlúcar. She is included in the General Anthology of Mexican Poetry, by Juan Domingo Argüelles; A very slow beast (sample of Sinaloa poetry); Tales of sweet voluptuousness, among other collective publications. She has also made the anthologies: The Nudity of Words, a selection of the poetry of Norma Bazúa; Between shadows (stories of suspense and darkness), narrative by Amparo Dávila; Night butterflies and other stories, narrative by Inés Arredondo, among others. She is also the author of Comer en Los Mochis: La cocina del festín y el agasajo. She is currently director of literature and publishing at the Sinaloense Institute of Culture.

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