William Carpenter
William Carpenter: grew up in Waterville, Maine, went to Dartmouth College and the University of Minnesota, taught at the University of Chicago, then returned to Maine to start the College of the Atlantic in 1972, where he taught until his retirement in 2019. He received the AWP award in poetry for The Hours of Morning and the Samuel French Morse award for Rain. His novels are A Keeper of Sheep, set on Cape Cod in the 1980s, The Wooden Nickel, set on the Maine Coast in contemporary times, and a new Maine–based novel coming out next year.
Salvadoran Woman Killed on Fillmore Street
by Daisy Zamora
translated by George Evans
She ran as fast as she could, she
shouted into the void, Oh God —
she worked so hard that day —
tightly held her purse against
her breast, then fell
in a pool of blood.
Afterwards, the kids told the police:
We didn’t want to stab her we were just
desperate we only wanted her money
but she screamed so hard
she scared the hell out, she really
scared the hell out of us.
Her children were devastated, their
only support she worked double shifts
that day had forty bucks in her purse
they were waiting for her on the way
to the grocery store it was New Year’s Eve,
end of the Millennium.
The newspaper also published the menu
of the dinner
the Mayor of San Francisco
was giving that night.
Of the many delicacies listed
was
wild salmon fillets
sprinkled with genuine gold
dust.
The Immigrant
by Daisy Zamora
translated by George Evans
She wakes up feeling odd
in a strange room.
Where is the father
and the mother
who just a moment ago
were with her?
Where are the words
of the conversation,
and the fragrant courtyard
after the downpour?
She gets up and sighs.
This foreign room
and indifferent light
of any morning
hurts her.
From the street
come the noises of life.
And the dream is left crumpled
like a handkerchief.
SANDINISTA REVOLUTION
by Daisy Zamora
Celebración 39 Aniversario
Revolución Popular Sandinista
No hay nada que celebrar.
El dictador y su mujer lo saben,
pero han llegado a la plaza.
Suben a la tarima enflorada.
Debajo hay una montaña de cadáveres.
Debajo hay heridos y lisiados.
Debajo hay llanto.
Saben que no hay nada que celebrar
más que la muerte,
que infiltra su hedor inconfundible
entre las flores.
39TH ANNIVERSARY CELEBRATION
SANDINISTA REVOLUTION
There is nothing to celebrate.
The dictator and his wife know it,
but they have just reached the plaza.
They are on the flower laden stage.
Beneath it a mountain of corpses.
Beneath it the wounded and crippled.
Beneath it wailing.
They know there is nothing to celebrate
except death,
its unmistakable stench
permeating the flowers.