Amélie Garrido


How much time do you have?  

Time, time!  
You came too late.  
I wish I’d met you sooner.  
Time again  

How much?  

I can’t come tomorrow. 

A lot  
A lot  
Forever maybe –  

Can I see you today? 
Not much  
Not much  
Very little maybe –  

I will love you always! 
Less than an hour  
Less than a minute  
I’m gone already –  

How much time do you have?  
All of it  
And none at all. 


In my chest  
My ribs once held a scroll of papyrus  
Closed and sealed eons ago,  
When Pharaoh sat on his throne of stone  
In his palace of flesh  
And watched the world with a god’s eye.  

Today no one reads,  
No one writes like we used to,  
My ancient heart locked behind glass,  
The blood dried and turned to gold  
And I shimmer silently in dusty light.  

Maybe I need new numbers,  
Exotics formulas  
Or awe-inspiring devices,  
Tongues not spoken yet  
And waves that pass through me  
Feather-light, without tearing,  

Or maybe generations will still  
Gape at me, puzzle and wonder  
What the raised veins spell  
And I,  
Unable to interpret myself,  
Will wonder back, helplessly,  
What do they see?  
Before they turn and walk  
To the next display. 

About the Author: Amélie Garrido is a twenty-year-old poet from Switzerland. She writes in both French and English and her poems have been published in journals such as L’ÉpîtreCabaret, or Interpret Magazine (more coming soon). Although she is currently studying biology, she is passionate about anything creative or thoughtfully crafted, from science to literature to art.