Latest Writing
POETRY
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GRINGO by Brandon Courtney
Wetback. Fence-jumper. My father’s heart fists with its yearly dying as he recalls his hired hand— a Hispanic—burying our tractor to its axle in a soup of snowmelt to men who, every morning, sit half-mooned around the greasy spoon’s table, lifting Styrofoam cups to sunburnt lips:
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JANUARY by Sara Uribe, translated by Toshiya Kamei
JANUARY on the streets there are witnesses who swear they have seen me walk around certain places they say I live beyond the other side of the word that I have a garden where instead of flowers every night I sow oblivion but I don’t know them and don’t know if they lie or
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EDGE by Sara Uribe, translated by Toshiya Kamei
EDGE on the edge of time I chant your name over and over again like a spell but everyone knows a word loses meaning if you repeat it many times a word is too fragile not without breaking not without tearing with the opposite blade of silence so my voice disappears
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