“Dawn ices the sky and drives back the stars. It took the entire night to complete his ascension: moving gear onto the platform—sleeping bag, ropes and harness, water, a little food, the brush and paint cans—using the torch to cut free the billboard’s decrepit ladder as he climbed, leaving the seventy-foot column . . .
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“I have a persistent fear of being a strange person in a normal world. I know this fear is not uncommon. The world—and I along with it—hopes to be normal, someday. Sometimes, though, it is better not to hope for this. The world has a long history of being strange and surprising, . . .
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1. The world is the sum of facts and birds. 2. Every proposition has form (or syntax: the profile of a Siberian goldfinch) and content (or semantics: the belly of a Siberian goldfinch). 2.1. The contents of a glass of milk, which could be a human body transmitting songs about birds, are . . .
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An orphanstands in the sky. An orphan with a huge headis nailed to the boundless sky in light-blue ink like a Jesuswithout grief on his face, . . . —from “Night of the Full Moon,” by Shen Haobo, translated from Chinese by Liang Yujing (Fall 2017) Tell us about one of the . . .
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A wine crate for a nightstand, and on it, a rosegone bad in a cup. Its water a swallow of shadow, murk of rotand sugar. Clothes sloughed, bodiless, and half- eaten on a plate,a plum in its juice. . . .—from “Still Life with Hemorrhage,” Fall 2017 (Vol. 58, Issue 3) Tell . . .
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First, it will feel like surprise. Like the edge of somethingunconsidered: a glass let go; an open palm;how cold a mouth can be and still say love,still say okay. —from “Love & Hypothermia,” in Summer 2017 (Vol. 58, Issue 2) Tell us about one of the first pieces you wrote.The first poem I wrote . . .
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That last February before the war and the hard years that were to follow it, forty-one years after the Leader’s revolution, Laila woke to the sound of explosions in the street. She sat clutching the blanket, eyes darting, half expecting to find herself buried in dust and rubble, her vision slowly adjusting . . .
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1936The year your grandmother swallowed her gold coins to hide them from the soldiersThis is how you keep yourself safe, keep partsof yourself in different boxes Trust no onewith everything —from “In Case of Emergency” from Summer 2017 (Volume 58.2) Tell us about one of the first pieces you’ve written.I worked for several . . .
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“We do not expect to be bludgeoned by laughter and/or by loveor other pleasantries, and neither do we expect music to be used on us. . .” – From “Muzak” which appears in the Music issue (Volume 57, Issue 4). Tell us about one of the first pieces you wrote.In art class . . .
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“. . .No one thinks this is enough to get the blood out. No one sleeps to the sounds of bombs.[ . .] No one shares the bed with his sisters and brothers.. . .” — from “No One and Syria’s Struggle to Sleep” which appears in the Summer 2017 issue (Volume . . .
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