Issue 10 — 

Stephanie Sherman
Gary Zebrun

Stephanie Sherman

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Tengo una lengua traviesa:
puente suave al interior,
conocedora de sabores.
Bailadora en pareja,
batidora de frutas exóticas
y sonidos.
Se mueve en círculos, saltos, elipses
por el aire y el agua,
por cuerpos de palabras,
por páginas de piel.
Habla, ama, traga
y bota gotas volcánicas.
Lengua inculta, irrespetuosa, talentosa-
una genia precoz,
una niña camaleón.
Les seduce, vestida de quiteña.
Me traiciona, bailando blues.

Copyright © 2007 by Stephanie Sherman.


I have a twisted tongue,
a soft channel to my interior,
a connoisseur of flavors.

a dancer with lovers,
a blender of exotic fruits.

It moves in circles, summersaults, ellipses
through breath and liquid,
over pages of skin,
bodies of syllables.
It loves, speaks, swallows
and shoots volcanic sparks.

A rebellious, uncultured, talented tongue,
a precocious genius,
a chameleon child.

It seduces you, dressed as a quiteña.
It betrays me, dancing the blues.

Copyright © 2007 by Stephanie Sherman.

Anoche soñé con agua salada...
Se filtró por los muslos de unas montañas.
Entró poco a poco, en gotitas tibias,
trayéndome fragmentos de cemento y algas marinas.
Se metió bajo de las raíces, las ruinas, las iglesias.
Descabezó a santos y descoló
a iguanas de piedra.
Chorreaba en los canales volcánicos
hasta que el Tungurahua botó agua
en vez de fuego.
Soñé que estaba inundada
y mis pulmones eran acordiones de agua.
Agarraba a las rejas de una casa colorada;
mis manos estaban mojadas
y libros volaban por encima de mi cabeza.
Me cogió el corriente y fui tragando
retazos de retratos,
pedazos de lunas llenas,
una alita metálica,
un cabello rojo,
vírgenes enojadas.
Hoy me desperté al lado del mismo mar
que me había devorado de noche.
Sueño encontrarme con un contracorriente
y tengo toda una ciudad
en pedacitos
en mi vientre.

Copyright © 2007 by Stephanie Sherman.


Last night I dreamed of salt water...

It filtered through the thighs of mountains,
entering in tepid trickles,
bringing me seaweed and cement fragments.
It crept its way beneath churches, roots, ruins.
It beheaded saints and cut the tails
off of stone iguanas.
It gushed through the volcanic channels
until the Tungurahua erupted water
in place of fire.
I dreamed that I was flooded
and my lungs were water-accordions.
I grasped the rails of a colored house;
My hands were wet
and there were books flying over me.
The current carried me, swallowing,
scraps of portraits,
pieces of full moons,
a metallic wing,
a red hair-strand,
angry virgins.
Today I awoke beside the same sea
that devoured me
at night.
I dream of a countercurrent that will carry me,
and I have pieces,
of a whole city,
in my belly.

Copyright © 2007 by Stephanie Sherman.

Me despido de Quito
de noche.
Está vestida de lentejuelas
como sus viudas en el año nuevo,
cuando queman a viejos.
Me despido de Quito
de las nubes.
Me estoy despegando del Panecillo,
vestida de vírgen,
y hay lentenjuelas entre mis cabellos.

Copyright © 2007 by Stephanie Sherman.


I say goodbye to Quito at night.

She is dressed in sequins
like her widows on New Year’s Eve,
when they burn viejos.

I say goodbye to Quito from the clouds.

I am taking off from the Panecillo,
dressed as a virgin,
and there are sequins between the strands of my hair.

Copyright © 2007 by Stephanie Sherman.


País, tan chiquito,
te metiste en mi bolsillo
como una moneda de luna.

Copyright © 2007 by Stephanie Sherman.



you slipped into my pocket
like a moon-coin.

Copyright © 2007 by Stephanie Sherman.


Stephanie Sherman is a dancer and choreographer who has lived, worked and/or studied in Cuba, Chile, Argentina, Spain and Costa Rica. She graduated from Vassar College in 2001 with High Honors in Hispanic Studies. In 2005, she received a Fulbright scholarship to Quito, Ecuador, where she taught dance to theatre students from La Universidad Central, Ecuador’s public university. There, she choreographed the critically acclaimed La Vida en Rosa, which explored the contrast between the romantic, feminine symbol of the rose and the reality of the women who work in the rose plantations in Ecuador. Her poems, originally written in Spanish, were inspired by her experience in Quito.


Gary Zebrun

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Kalashnikovs by Gary Zebrun.

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Gary Zebrun's first novel, SOMEONE YOU KNOW, was a finalist for a Lambda Literary Award in 2005. He's recently finished a second novel, ONLY THE LONELY, from which "Kalashnikovs" is taken. He has published prose and poetry in numerous magazines including the New York Times,, Sewanee Review, The New Republic, The Iowa Review and The American Scholar. His interview with Edmund White appears in THE BELIEVER BOOK OF WRTIERS TALKING TO WRITERS. He is an editor at The Providence Journal and lives in Providence, Rhode Island.