献给爱伦·坡的玫瑰 ROSES FOR POE 我们到达巴尔的摩正好是1月19日。在宾馆住下后，我对妻子说，我带你去个地方。干吗？向大师致敬。 We arrived in Baltimore not earlier or later, but exactly on January 19. After checking into our hotel, I told my wife I was taking her somewhere. She asked what it was for. I said, to salute the master. 谁？ Who? 埃德加·爱伦·坡。 Edgar Allan Poe 我穿上黑色的风衣。我的衣服差不多都是黑色的。勒上格子围巾。要有一顶礼帽就好了，我说。妻子觉得奇怪，说，你从不戴礼帽的。我说是，可是今天不一样。有什么不一样？我说今天是埃德加·爱伦·坡的生日，我们去他的墓地，献花。 I put on my […]
Roses For Edgar Allan Poe
Your tax dollars kill kids and other American dreams and I am not myself
by Isaac Pickell
Your tax dollars kill kids and other American dreams It all seems very mundane, the sounds of children running, heavy clomping feet as they fast-dawdle down pavement headed nowhere so much as away from wherever their parent’s voice commands, gleeful cries receding into the safety of the middle distance, a comfortable fade that still promises […]
Diva Plavalaguna Cuts Your Career Short
by Ethan Klein
1. You sit for your interview at a cubicle inside a large warehouse. Your interviewer says you’d be a risky hire, as he’s looking to bring someone on with more relevant experience. However he’s open to hearing how your work recycling cheap clothing back to citizens of the Global South, working security at a sticky […]
The Strike of Hunger
by Prasant Kumar Mishra, translated from the Odia by Debasish Mishra
Madhu parked his rickshaw in front of his cottage and laid himself over the veranda. Startled, Chameli asked, “Are you not feeling well today? Won’t you take the rickshaw?” Madhu blabbered, “They have called for a strike today.” With apparent curiosity, Chameli inquired, “What’s that?” “Everything, I mean everything — the market, the transport, the […]
Manifesting a Name
by Gerald Ewa
1 The detachment I felt towards my last name began when I was 13. I was newly admitted into Junior Secondary School. I sat somewhere in front of a classroom with cream-colored walls that peeled in flakes when touched, sardined between students whose faces wore radiant smiles tinged with anxiety. The class was filled with […]
Splitting and Impatient Love Poem
by Virginia Kane
Splitting Outside Albuquerque, you pulled over your father’s Bronco to look for fossils. I wanted to go to Georgia’s museum, to stand in a room of her pistils and study how she opened things. You led me down a ravine, one hand on mine the other on a chisel in your back pocket, told me […]
