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February 2020

"House Illustration" by Amanj Amin by Alova, translated from Turkish by BUĞRA GIRITLIOĞLU Every night the child would seek his stars And the Moon, which he raised with brand new names: Cut nail, Luminous Hammock Growwalker, Bruised Orange When the wind would start blowing Undulating the water’s curtain And a callow frog tire of its own croak And jump into the moss-scented sky, He’d lose his stars The Moon he raised every night Would shatter When the wind subsided So that the stars took their places And the Full Moon recollected its pieces, The child whose eyes grew heavy Rested his head one night Against his pillow made of the Milky Way And laid down to The moss-scented stars’ Eternal

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There is a concept coined by the Lebanese writer Walid Sadek which denotes a present endlessly postponed by the lack of pasts and futures. He calls it “the protracted now.” Since discovering it in his "The Ruin to Come, Essays from a Protracted War" (Motto Books & Taipei Biennial, 2016), I have been carrying it around with me, like an overweight suitcase that I would rather check in at the nearest counter than have with me as the plane flies over fictional borders that harm non-fictional people. During the flight, it is checked in and, in those few hours, past and

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Wonderland IV by Beatriz Morales Last year, my original plan: to come to America,But lack of money for passage stopped me         until early autumn.On the Seventh Day of the Seventh Moon,I boarded the President Lincoln.I ate sea wind and tasted waves for more than twenty days,But luckily, arrived unharmed.I thought a few days and I’d be on the dock,Little did I know of the suffering in the wood house.The barbarians’ harsh treatment really difficult to accept,Thinking of my family finances, a double stream of tears.Yet, I hope to enter San Francisco soon,Avoid living in

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