Contributed By: Ana Istarú, Mark Smith-Soto
Hello, pain, let’s dance.
Today you will be
my short-lived lover.
Your ship’s siren,
your sonorous rings in my mouth,
I know, I know.
Oh, Jehova’s beast,
your bite’s point-blank.
Hello pain.
Let’s dance, what the hell.
Soon I’ll watch you burn, rabid,
alone in your parade
and I, spilling froth from my breasts,
delighting in the little king,
breathing in the gold scream
of the child I birthed.
Return to table of contents for Issue 2 Winter 2010
Ireland is a lush island full of the kind of creativity that verges on magic. Instantly you may think of its entrancing folklore, its grand literary tradition, and even contemporary authors such as Sally Rooney (endorsed by Taylor Swift) and Anna Burns (winner of the 2019 Man Booker Prize). Now I introduce you to your […]
An arrow, and so a harpoon, is stopped while it is moving. Sprung from bow, or hurled from hand, the weapon speeding through the air is frozen “in the Now.” Aristotle solves the problem pragmatically. Time, like space, is infinite in two ways: infinite in extremity and infinite in division. Though nothing finite can approach […]
Since I moved away to a bigger city, I seldom come back home. Only for holidays and the anniversaries of a few people’s deaths.
