Category: Issue 25

ISSUE 25

POEMS EN ROUTE by Suphil Lee Park TWO POEMS by Alexandra Teague GHAZAL NO. 2 by M. Cynthia Cheung [MY GRANDFATHER WALKED IN THE SNOW] by Cleo Qian IN THE END, THE ALEFS CURL by Iqra Khan THREE POEMS by Mónica Gomery GEOMETRY by Karen Kevorkian from PSALMS OF LAMENT FOR DIVINE IMPERATIVES by Jennifer…
TWO POEMS by Ashraf Zaghal trans. Ghada Mourad (from ARABIC)

Halloween Scene 1Scarves flyAs if a tribe of ghosts carry them to the skyThey fly and land with sin on my neighbor’s headMy neighbor knows neither their namesNor hers Scene 2Scarves run toward the angelsThe angels are unusually blackIt’s said to be a costume partyIt’s said to be a cheerful consolationOf the deceased who is…
WHEN OTHER PEOPLE ARE WRITING POEMS by Oh Kyu-won trans. Jack Jung (from KOREAN)

Sleep does not come for many nights. Today I waited for my unclosing eyes againand sleep fell asleep first and sleep’s clothes and shoesand door talisman went to sleep tooI alone lowered my gaze and watched sleepwho was sleeping without me. Exhausted sleep collapsed beside me and curled its bodyand snored ever so lightly.Where is my…
FROM NORTH by Baek Seok trans. Jack Jung (from KOREAN)

Once upon a time I left behindThe tribes of Buyeo and Suksin and Balhae and Yeojin and Yo and GeumAnd Heungahnryeong and Eumsan and Amoowooreu and SoonggariI betrayed the tiger the deer and the raccoonAnd lied to the trout the catfish and the frog I left them behind At the timeremember how the birch and the…
[UNTITLED] by Vladislav Hristov trans. Katerina Stoykova (from BULGARIAN)

the mobilizing of the troops coincided with the amassing of numerous migrating birds only magpies crows and vultures will winter here sparrows titmouses finches and the rest of the feathered ones will seek the path to their salvation some will become too attached to people others will live in holes and shelters in both cases…
from HOW DARK MY SKIN IS LEFT BY HER SHADOW by Beatriz Miralles de Imperial trans. Layla Benitez-James (from SPANISH)

a poemwhere I shatter self where I say no * no:no offeringno tremblingno handsno thirstno tellingnow more * nono longerthis broken language * empty of youthese handsdry pail * I am a silent riverfor her to pass through and unknow her skinon the water’s skin her body inscribed onto mine * you’ve left no space for your absence in…
THREE POEMS by Bronka Nowicka trans. Katarzyna Szuster (from POLISH)

INCALCULABILITY Things and people often disappear at night, so in the morning you account for yourself with the help of your hand. See if you have incurred losses of yourself. There are ten toes on your feet, five in each flock. None should be missing from the herd. Your eyes are in your head, tucked…
AND WHAT HAPPENS IF I WANT TO NAME EVERYTHING?, ASKS THE FEMALE DISCIPLE by Mayra Santos-Febres trans. Seth Michelson (from SPANISH)

what happens if i want to speak childrensay belovedembrace this solitude? the signs will kill you, warn far-sighted voices,the parallel paths of the law will kill you many women have tried and failedtheir names are the names of names they come from everywhereare written in every tonguesing from every tribe of the species the voices…
from RED MELANCHOLIA by Helena Boberg trans. Johannes Göransson (from SWEDISH)

They have grabbed me opened up cut loose reshaped my nature spared a cypher from being extinguished begun a protracted illness The room tightened brought my life sphere one step closer to my body underneath was a…
KHOSHBAKHTAM by Kent Kosack

Fifi leased her mother a Kia Rio and her mother hates her for it. She tries to deflect and asks her mother about her coworker, Mindy. Poor Mindy. “Mindy? Didn’t I tell you about Mindy? About my glasses? My Miklis?” her mother says. Fifi shakes her head, looks at the bare walls of her mother’s…
MY DINNER THEATRE WITH ANDRÉ by Christopher Hebert

for Manuel I was in the garage doing a load of laundry when my mother came to tell me Andrew Mulligan was in town. He’d been spotted at 2:53 p.m., bumming a cigarette outside the Waffle House. These were details highly suspicious in their specificity. Immediately,…
WHAT ELSE COULD I HAVE DONE by Mikael de Lara Co

I am dead and everyone is weeping: The battalions I led, my wife, my children. My father’s ghost wheezes by a clump of melted wax. My enemies hover by the door. The lone librarian from San Anton halves a biscuit, offers it to the farmhand from Tignapoloan, saying: Oh, he was a man of many…