All posts tagged: Dispatches

On the Shores of Baileys Harbor

By BEN TAMBURRI

Shore of Baileys Harbor

Photo courtesy of author

Baileys Harbor, WI

Baileys Harbor has always felt like a place that is eternally old, eternally in the past. It is a destination for quiet summers on the Wisconsin peninsula, where the insignia of range lights and lighthouses decorate the bathroom of every home, and Dala horses wreath the doors. It was the place of my youth, even if it was only for a week each year. As a kid, when my family visited, I felt at home among the retired condo-dwellers. 

On the Shores of Baileys Harbor
Read more...

The Garden of the Gods

By ELI RODRIGUEZ FIELDER 

Two children kneel on a large rock surface. Large grey boulders and a forest of trees are visible in the distance.

Photo courtesy of author

Herod, Illinois

There are two Gardens of the Gods, but the one in Southern Illinois fit our budget. On the drive down from Iowa City, we listen to podcasts about Norse and Greek mythology to fill the twins’ heads with ideas of magic, with the hope that they might complain less about the hiking. From their car seats, they point out farms with broken corn stalks and a Burger King, making the argument that we must still be in Iowa. Even though we’ve traveled six hours, their six-year-old brains haven’t yet connected time and distance. But I’ve been in the Midwest long enough to know the difference between the farms around a college town and farms around a farming town. And if I wasn’t wisened to it, the signage would teach me soon enough. Traveling through rest stops and restaurants puts us on edge. We make the outline of an average family with a couple of feral kids, if people don’t linger too long in their gaze.

The Garden of the Gods
Read more...

Four Ways of Setting the Table

By CLARA CHIU

Photo of a long wooden table with chairs. Plants in the background

Photo courtesy of author.

Amherst, Massachusetts

I. Tablecloth Winter

We are holding the edges of the fabric,
throwing the center into the air.
& even in dusk this cloth
billowing over our heads 
makes a souvenir of home:
mother & child in snowglobe.
Yet we are warm here, beneath
this dome, & what light slips through
drapes the dining room white.

Four Ways of Setting the Table
Read more...

Sisterland

By NANDINI BHATTACHARYA

Two Sisters reading in a wheelbarrow

Photo courtesy of author

Ithaca, NY

I want to start by saying that this is not about when I was in a New York city cab and the cabbie and I struck up a concrete jungle duet about where we were from—Gaza, Sudan, Rwanda, Nigeria, Dominican Republic, Pakistan, Ukraine, India…—and what winds, fair or foul, had blown us to the country that’s being made great again by a certain real estate developer. I want to start by saying that in what I have to say there is no New York City or cabbie. That’s not the kind of story this is. Rather, in this story there is a sister—or sisters—and a land—or lands.

I want to start by saying that I propose, simply, a new topos for going “back home,” for the return to Ithaca. I call this topos Sisterland.

Sisterland
Read more...

Dispatch: Two Poems

By SHANLEY POOLE

a broken down, rusty car  faces out toward a lightly forested, sunny, and hilly landscape.

Photo courtesy of author.

Hot Springs, North Carolina

A Mathematical Formula for Continuing

I’m asking for a new geography,
something beyond the spiritual.

Tell me again, about that first
drive up Appalachian slopes

how you knew on sight these hills
could be home. I want

Dispatch: Two Poems
Read more...

Fathom

 

Norfolk, Virginia/Virginia Beach, Virginia

 

When the whales wash up on shore, my friend grieves. I feel it too, but it feels further away. Deep in me, treading water, legs furiously churning under the surface. The first whale washes up on the oceanfront, just off the boardwalk. People drive out to stare at it. Its dark wet form deflates into the sand. I dont drive to find it but think of it all day.

I scroll through the Facebook comments that claim its all the fault of the offshore windmills, the sonic waves mapping the ocean floor pummeling through the ocean. Everybody seems to have watched the same hoax-y documentary funded by the oil industry. But of course, its the boats. The whales scarred and torn up by container ships. 165,000 tons of steel running into migration paths.

Fathom
Read more...

Glass: Five Sonnets

By MONIKA CASSEL

Author’s Note:

Cold War divided Berlin haunted me growing up because it was a place where history was unavoidably visible, and when I lived there for two-and-a-half years as a student in the 1990s, I was always watching and trying to document the city’s rapid changes after the Wall fell. In 2022 a cousin found an advertisement on Ebay from circa 1939 that showed images of the Potsdamer Platz S-Bahn station from my great-grandfather’s glass factory in Waldenburg (now Wałbrzych, Poland). I’m still processing what it means to have my family history connected to a place that is a central, broken image of Berlin and so crucial to the imagination of the Cold War, particularly at a time when we in the U.S. are (or should be) thinking about what the world looks like when democracy yields to authoritarianism.

 

a train pulls up to a subway platform

Photo courtesy of author. 

 

Berlin, Germany

Potsdamer Platz, Berlin, April 1939

We were successful in securing major commissions—for the Reichsbahn
underground station Potsdamer Platz and AnhalterBahnhof—and in
fulfilling them on time. Such large-scale projects are crucial for breaking
fresh ground for sales of Opaxit glass.

—Annual Report of the Schlesische Spiegelglas Manufaktur
    Carl Tielsch G.m.b.H., 1938

Glass: Five Sonnets
Read more...

When I Go to Chicago

By SHELLEY STENHOUSE

A small table set for breakfast: mashed grapefruit, berries, a Raisin Bran box, two spoons, and a short glass of dark liquid. To the right of the place setting is a stack of newspapers, including the Chicago Sun Times.

Chicago, Illinois

things break. The last time, on the last day, the pipes in the kitchen burst and flooded my parents’ blonde wood floor. When I’m up in that 87th floor apartment, I look at the sky’s blank expression. I keep the little square office window open for the sliver of nature. It’s hard to read with Fox News blaring, so I drift from room to room.

Each time before I fly to Chicago, I lose my debit card. This time it leapt out of my raincoat pocket on my way to the grocery store and refused to reappear. I had the new one shipped straight to the Hancock.

When I Go to Chicago
Read more...