Swallows. Photo by Kenneth Cole Schneider/FlickrThe SwallowsG. Mend-Ooyo Returning from afar, swallows in flocksEmbrace the tales of the gentle, tranquil steppe.The waters of ete…
Poetry
Photo by Katerina Cheiladaki Translator’s note: Arvanitika, or Arberishte as it is called in the Corinthian mountain villages, is one of the many languages in the world facin…
Photo by Marjan Lazarevski Jesucristo’is Ja’ Ñäjktyäj’ya Äj’ Tzumama’is Kyionuksku’yÄj’ tzumama’is ja’ myuspäkä’ kastiya’orenatzu’ jyambä’ä ngyomis’kyionukskutyamnatzu’ xaä’ tumä nabdzu’jya…
The Gardener I learned to plant trees with my grandfather.“The willows need more water than you, Andrés,and their rootsin the beginning aren’tvery deep.Sometimes they grow so fastand sometim…
Author note: These flash semi-témoignages or reportages are inspired by stories people told me It began as…
How tenderly the stream flowsamong the numberless blossomswhose heads dip and weavein the tepid east wind, how warmthe insect tune, and multitudethe ripe green grasses, rank on rankthrough which…- WishesWish I could still laugh with the lotusOn the bank of the Nile Take off my clothes And dive into the Zambezi Join spirit dancersIn the middle of the GangesRomp with…
Photo by GwagaLittle Men Animals no longer speakDrums refuse to beatTanganyika slowly retreats From her shoresBloodied by the nightmare of menWhose pettiness piercesThe deep slumber of the a…
Photo by Pieter Stockmans“Syrian refugees go about their business in a refugee camp in Mafraq, Jordan . . .” Ropes on poles, jeans & shirt…
Translators’ NoteJuan Hernández Ramírez describes both Nahuatl and Spanish as mirrors for his writing: “sirven de espejo, kewak se teskatl.” He does not write solely in one l…
Photo by Kables/FlickrTheir language rolls out, soft carpet in front of them.Strolling slowly beneath trees, men in white shirts, belts, baggy trousers,women in scarves,glinting cigaret…- Clay Tablet Bearing the World’s First AlphabetThat had comemuch later –After everythingalready had happened –Without witnessthe first stammeredwordthis atomic flashforevercontaminatingthe oblivious cr…
- The first time I saw your father,I stared back into the pool at your reflectionwhile he waded through,the water moving in gentle circles away from us.The first time, I thought it was the Nilewe’d dipp…
- IBefore what happened happened,I mean, before the towers became a stairway to the dayof reckoning, and the world split into twocamps, water and sand,I used to wish that I’d be among the poetswho would…
- Letter to BaghdadEven if my father never speaks a word of it, I will knowhe brought a candle, a cough, and the occupied side of his heart.I will know the trees held him, that they rose above rooflines…
- The Cricket MatchThey have fooled us, friends, got us all to gaze night and day at the television,Entrusted us with the cricket match,While they go and steal the country’s resources, we watch the matc…
- Late three times for work, so it’s night shiftor my job. I’m eighteen, no experience, broke,so I make the deal. I wear jeans and a T-shirt:Shop at Ray’s for the Best Deals Around,a message more pertin…
- [Download the e-book Blaze A Vanishing by Alan Morrison] Alan Morrison's e-book Blaze A Vanishing is available here in its entirety as a WLT web exclusive to go along with h…
- Sandy stands in the designer-wear sectionof a suburban department storein her best jeans and a cheery holidaysweater picked up at the Goodwill.The Muzak versions of Christmas carolsleave a hollow ache…
- I try to tell my brother not to call himself a “go-fer”just because he fetches cardboard for women shouting, “Bring me a double order,” who get paid by the piece.A thin vibration against her…
- “You’re a big guy. You should be working construction.” …
- maybe we should just writeand see what happens and what if something does?could we live with ourselvesif nothing did? nothing has in such a long timeand yet that’s a lie toodidn’t you just l…
- Blind dog staccato howlsin regular intervals in four-four time,on guard like me, can’t sleep.Am I happier here?When in we talked like cellmates,“How many years you got?”Wife alongside, “Wish that damn…
- Love picks its way through the gravel rutsleading into the job site, past the truck tiresexploded nearby, the crows’ rusted voices, blackwings and feet, cottonwoods risen in ghostlyfields and the leve…
- When I was young and had to rise at 5 a.m.I did not look at the lamplight slicingthrough the blinds and say: Once againI have survived the night. I did not raisemy two hands to my face and whisper:Thi…
