By Jorge Enrique Lage
Translated by George Bert Henson
I arrived in Nokia in the spring.
I had the address: a building in the city’s center.
Issue 10
Latest Reviews
Featured Interview
Newest Essay
Little caliban
By Juan Carlos Flores
Translated by Kristin Dykstra
The skater of death flies across the avenue, between the cars and the passersby, today I just want to look, at the skater of death or the skatedeath of door, rustic pig’s eyes, there’s a boy looking, there’s a boy whose name is Rachiel.
Bolero corner bar
By Juan Carlos Flores
Translated by Kristin Dykstra
She’s singing old boleros, this isolated person, according to medical files, is on the edge, and if the men of the new stone age approach, it’s only to unload their obscure packages
Phoenix
By Juan Carlos Flores
Translated by Kristin Dykstra
Don’t cry for me if the police arrest me, breaker of the law, that was before I knew Jah.
The fool
By Juan Carlos Flores
Translated by Kristin Dykstra
Coin-swallowing machines, though in his palms no lines appear, his
future can’t be read, he’s a good person, he should speak here
Fable With Monster
By Pedro de Jesús
Translated by Dick Cluster
It’s up to you, Pancho. If you listen to Caleb, to his advice to find someplace else to enjoy the fresh air or go home to bed, this guy Osiris is not going to spoil your night.
Near a cruising spot in Santa Clara
By Pedro de Jesús
Translated by Dick Cluster
Feldspar. Tiger. Meekness. Scaffold.
With words at his disposal, a poet
can play fast and loose, ape dementia,
Letters From Santiago
By Chris Campanioni
She was rising, bird-like
On the first page, the first
Letter I read, the first line
But we never cut the other kites
Talk Talk
By Chris Campanioni
My father learned English
On the radio—
Sing-song Santiago Spanish
“Rocks Off,” The Rolling Stones
Libiamo
By Mylene Fernández Pintado
Translated by Dick Cluster
Violeta chose her outfit carefully—it needed to be sexy but not shameless—and climbed into a pair of heels that elevated her as if she’d ascended the podium after a hard-won victory.
Pornographics
By Zulema de la Rúa Fernández
Translated by George Bert Henson
Ever since I was a little girl I always wanted to be a porn star. Of course, I didn’t know that was what they were called. I used to look at my brother’s magazines and videos when no one was looking, and I’d imagine myself in a close-up of an aesthetically designed orgy.
There’s No Time to Start from the Beginning…
By Fina García Marruz
Translated by Katherine M. Hedeen
There’s no time to start from the beginning, everything
in order, shamelessly, in the elemental, candid blue.
There’s no possible lucidity, the circle’s closed off
its horizon where humble paradises swaggered.
Metals
By Anton Arrufat
Translated by Katherine M. Hedeen
What do you think of the word metal?
Do you like it?
If I say,
the metal of your voice,
do you like it?
entrance (fragments)
By Víctor Rodríguez Núñez
Translated by Katherine M. Hedeen
1 [158 Campanario Street]
first and foremost to scrape
everything you see
the homeland’s in the claves
the city rooster waking up traffic
Installation with Garbage
By Anna Lidia Vega Serova
Translated by Mary G. Berg
At first he asked her about her life and things in general, but then, lost in his own thoughts, he didn’t listen to what she said.
The Way Out
By Emerio Medina
Translated by George Bert Henson
By then a lot of people were trying to leave the Island. A lot of people were making plans and calculations. They hunched over maps by night, plotting routes in the water, shut themselves up in their apartments, and talked about the trip and their new life.
medical history
By Jo Reyes-Boitel
a lot of our history is gone, let’s be honest –
when your family has been in four countries in three generations
the nonessential is quickly cast off
Cappuccino for Three
By Nancy Alonso
Translated by Anne Fountain
Olga Lidia crossed the Plaza Vieja toward the terrace of The Escorial Café under a light drizzle and sat down at a table to wait for Claribel.
liberation
By Jo Reyes-Boitel
here I am: grafted from the resilience of a 4’7” matriarch traveling 46 hundred miles to freedom
island sensibilities moated by Texas deserts mud pies and dark nights scented in pine
cold Minnesota Septembers
La última lluvia (The Last Rain)
The Last Rain is inspired by a photo of mambises posing for the camera moments before a deadly ambush.
The Possessed Life of María E
By Laidi Fernández de Juan
Translated by Mary G. Berg
I.
At six AM María E went out to the veranda to sit in the cane rocker. Five minutes later, she was agreeably surprised by the way the sun rose, and she hoped that perhaps the spell would begin to lose its grip on her.