“In conclusion, there was no reliable tracing, and, without it, I would not find an asymptomatic person. I spent a couple of days discouraged because I could not figure out how to infect Mamamí,” from “To Wash Your Hands,” by Arlene Carballo Figueroa
“Say it, over and over again, in front of the mirror if necessary, / even if you can no longer see, or breathe properly, / don’t worry, you don’t have Covid, /
it’s just one in a long string of panic attacks,” from “Don't Suicide,” by Eïrïc R. Durändal-Stormcrow
“Now, every few years, the villagers come and rearrange the thirty pound sandbags that weigh down the organ’s pedals. There’s a whir and a note is added and the chord changes. Pipes are installed as needed. Each movement will last a lifetime,” from “Slow,” by Achy Obejas
“I walk the last two stations myself, / along the river, light spills from streetlamps / spattering the pavement. / Before I know it, it’s raining. / Before I know it, it quits.” from “Is It October?”, by Toshiko Hirata
“What shall the wind do / when it’s fallen in love / with a candle flame?” - Alireza Roshan
“I listened and couldn’t believe that I was sitting with my brother, a murderer and rapist, that we were sipping tea, and that nothing was like when we were young,” from “When I Left ‘Karl Liebknecht,’” by Lidija Dimkovska
“It was as if we were walking each other to some place, holding hands until the fear passed, and then she would let me enter the dream,” from “To The Door,” by Georgi Gospodinov
In this Kafkaesque story, two startling discoveries follow the transformation of a man’s environment.
When police are blinding protestors on Chile’s streets, eyes like poet Elvira Hernández’s become more important than ever.
A writer traces how the murder of George Floyd is continuing to arouse people in cities everywhere, including her own mother in Martinique.
In quarantine in South Beach, Miami, Carlos Pintado looks to literature—and bees—while contemplating the global pandemic.
Jean-Louis Hippolyte interviews Antoine Volodine, one of the authors and the self-titled spokesperson of postexoticism, a movement that comprises 49 authors to date, with a total production of 343 texts.
David Shook interview Natalie Diaz, author of Postcolonial Love Poem (2020) and When My Brother Was an Aztec (2012), winner of an American Book Award. She is a 2018 MacArthur Foundation Fellow, a Lannan Literary Fellow, and a Native Arts Council Foundation Artist Fellow.
Adam J. Goldwyn interview poet, translator, and essayist Zisis D. Ainalis, who has published seven books of poetry: Electrography (2006), Fragments (2008), Michalis Tatsis—Holding up the Stake with the Hands (2011), Sheba’s Silence (2011), Mythology (2013), Desert Tales (2017), and Desert Monody (2019).
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