By Martina Vasquez They call me La Pola. Only now, walking towards certain death, it occurs to me that I don’t know why. I’m kind of glad today is going to be my last day. The words sound harmonious. Dates don’t always have the ring of a good verse, but today does. “She died on…
By Manoela Torres The hollow of lifeless soil Bleeds injustice and punctures lives This scar they sow, so splendidly cruel The scar unties soil It separates blood, lacks life It dissects landscapes, starves dreams This victory of an unpromised land Stabs imperfection and corrupts chained eutopia It absorbs the prayers of the voices that…
