By: Gaither Stewart The last time I saw Algodón was in the instant before the medics pulled the sheet over his face. From my fourth floor balcony across the narrow street, even in the faint late-night illumination I could…

By: Paulo Lorenzo Garcia There’s an ant Scuttling towards me Going off in all directions frantically. A note of urgency alluded to by the length of its strides And the acreage it covered The thought of killing it Had crossed…

By: Paulo Lorenzo Garcia “Tonight I Can Write the Saddest Lines,” Said Pablo Neruda. But be that as it may My soul swivels in harsh repose Beneath a scarcely rippled sheet In response to a rhapsody astray A gash in…