Dispatches | Page 43

Unfinished Buildings

June 1, 2011 Dispatches

Mohamid Abdelazim sips tea from the fourth floor of an unfinished apartment building in the Cairo neighborhood of Giza. The building is owned by Mohamid’s father, and from where Mohamid stands, he can see the peaks of the Great Pyramid above a dozen other incomplete red brick apartment complexes. Through empty windows, Mohamid watches cars racing around the curves of Ring Road as it twists away from Giza.

Agendas

May 25, 2011 Dispatches

By SAYWARD SCHOONMAKER

wind over ears we sped along on steel-framed bikes
tracing the profile of the coast
cold north water pulled down warming spring air
and met at the narrow list of pavement we rode on
built up from sea level raised to a peak like a striped mound in a plowed field

The Balkan

May 18, 2011 Dispatches

By CRALAN KELDER

The Balkan in my neighborhood, I give him small amounts of money a few
times a week, it’s not what you think. A lot of people do this. About his wife,
he tells me he has none. My daughter, he sees her smile a flash flood,
always gives her a cookie. His word is börek, translates as ‘savory pastry’
pronounced “boo-wreck”. For this I gladly give him money. Spinach and feta.
Bigger than your hand, hot from the oven. With meat or cheese, pasta layers,
flaky dough. He works 6 days a week. He was taking a nap in the park a few
years ago, we were there eating homemade sticky cake. I offer him some, he
rigorously declines. Does he recognise me? Was it inappropriate?

Boston Launch Event

May 17, 2011 Dispatches, News and Events

Event Date:

Wednesday, June 8, 2011 – 7:00pm

Location:

Porter Square Books

We’re celebrating the release of Issue 01 in Boston! Join us if you’re in the area on June 8th at Porter Square Books (Cambridge, MA) for readings by Ilan Stavans and Sabina Murray. The event starts at 7PM and is free & open to the public. Refreshments will be provided. For more information, please visit here.

Night Fishing, Devil’s Kitchen Lake

May 11, 2011 Dispatches

By JAMES A. GILL

—for Rodney Jones

After the accident, when I no longer walked with a cane, we met there at dusk. I hesitated stepping off the dock into the gently swaying boat, still unsure of the steel screwed into my bones, scared in that instant, like every other, of the infinite number of ways a person can die. I took my place in the hard plastic fishing seat, and by the time we reached the far side of the lake and tied onto the line of buoys near the spillway, full dark had come. We set our lines and did no more.

The Chosen Ones

May 4, 2011 Dispatches

By PETER JAY SHIPPY

When he was 12, he was voted
Most likely to become Satan’s spawn

By the other sixth graders at Gesù
Catholic School in Northy. Lucas

Extracts from the Ridiculous American: A Just Plain Strange One-Sided Correspondence

April 27, 2011 Dispatches

By JOCK DOUBLEDAY

AMSTERDAM

October 21, 1998

Dear Diary,

My 39th birthday was spent in the airport, but walking down Herengracht I thought, “Happy Birthday.” Not too excited being here. Looks like just another New York City to me. Of course, it’s dark. We’ll see what daylight brings.

Finishing Sequence

April 20, 2011 Dispatches

By CARRIE MEADOWS

Men in red vests enter in the wake of the crowd’s leaving,

their sneakers rustling hollow soda cups and corndog sleeves.

This is the dingy hush of half-eaten pretzels, half-empty

popcorn buckets. When the crew has finished clearing debris

Buttons

April 13, 2011 Dispatches

By JESSICA ADAMS

In a long, low building with a tin roof, people from this village turn clamshells into buttons. Beyond the broken windows lie middens of clamshells, punctuated with precise and uniform holes. The gravel mixes with broken shells and thick, pale unfinished buttons.

Archipelago

April 6, 2011 Dispatches

By IAN MACLELLAN

In Greece, people visit islands. There are a lot of islands to visit. They head for beaches, coastline, the sea, to lie on the shore and look out at the water. But to find an island, you should really look inland. The island is the thing behind you. Turn around.

On a small Cycladic island, a second home for me by marriage, I swelter by the beach. Idyllic, busy, and anonymous. A limited sense of context: a watery horizon; sand; shops, bars and restaurants. At 40°C in the shade, it’s all swimming costumes and ice cream and plastic toys.