Celebrating 15 YearsBy DAWN TEFFT
the window is freezing into a lake
and nothing on its surface has vertebrae
Winterhospital
March 5, 2014
Dispatches
All posts tagged: Dispatches
Acting
February 26, 2014
Dispatches
The crowds are a loaded pincushion
that pricks me as I lean into
the human tide. The rotunda’s marble
2 Poems
February 19, 2014
Dispatches
Towards Algiers
The desert scatters
on our feet. It’s the only
surrender that counts,
vast, unobstructed.
Málaga
February 12, 2014
Dispatches, Translation
By JUAN ANTONIO GONZÁLEZ IGLESIAS
Translated by CURTIS BAUER
Todas y cada una de las cosas
del mundo tienen hoy exactitud
matinal. Esta dulce luz de Málaga
declara una vez más la equivalencia
entre la realidad y el paraíso.
Destinados al Olvido? (Destined for Oblivion?)
February 5, 2014
Dispatches, Translation
By JUAN ANTONIO GONZÁLEZ IGLESIA
Translated by CURTIS BAUER
Álvaro Mutis habla lentamente.
Una entrevista en un canal hispano.
Me interesa el desgaste de las cosas.
Mezzogiorno
January 29, 2014
Dispatches
There was a pile of old vines and twigs in the vineyard. We lit a bonfire and the flames licked daylight into the night sky. Next morning there was a gray and black patch of coldashes, perfectly round. It looked hard, like crushed marbles, so I stepped on it. My boot sank deep into tiny feathers. A gray boot and a brow none told me I should have known better.
Tour Guide
January 22, 2014
Dispatches
By NINA PURO
Details Concerning the Individual Denizens and Their Residences
In New Mexico, days end with soaking the frijoles for tomorrow. They start with a lump of bacon grease sizzling in a cast-iron pan, with chipping a chunk of green chilé from one of the blocks in the freezer. People like food that hurts them as they eat it. Even the cocoa has chilé in it and a Spanish name and must be beaten to a froth.
On Fumes
January 15, 2014
Dispatches
By CHRIS KELSEY
Often, Jim left for work at 5:30 am. I’d hear the old Volvo growl to life, struggle into the snowy lane, and twitter and squeal as it slowly picked up speed on the icy street going away.
At the Phillips 66
January 8, 2014
Dispatches
By KURT CASWELL
After the wind, a man named Chuck died lying on the ice next to the fuel pump at the Phillips 66 off I-80 on the east side of Rawlins, Wyoming. I helped his friend lift him down from the passenger seat of the pickup, a big man, heavy and round, dressed in heavy Carhart work clothes against the cold. I gentled his head against my chest, holding him under the arms, a rag doll pulled down in the middle, my cheek so close to his, his little moustache, his hairy ears, his jowly neck. He was already dead, no pulse, no breath, his eyes gone out, but the 911 operator asked us to begin chest compressions.
Small Kindness
December 18, 2013
Dispatches
By ANIKA GUPTA
A year ago, a girl my age was raped in New Delhi. Several days later she died of her injuries in a hospital in Singapore. Her intestines were so badly mangled she would have required a transplant to live. If she had lived, she would never have eaten without the aid of a tube.
