Yidan Han

  Contributing Editor:
  Kyle David Anderson

Deborah Ager

Deborah Ager(1971-)earned a BA in English and a MFA in creative writing. She founded 32 Poems Magazine, a semiannual literary magazine.



Zhijuan Ni


Zhijuan Ni was born in Hubei Province in China in 1970. She holds a PHD degree in philosophy. She has published a number of translations in poetry. She teaches and lives in Hangzhou.



Over the fence, the dead settle in for a journey. Nine o'clock. You are alone for the first time today. Boys asleep. Husband out. A beer bottle sweats in your hand, and sea lavender clogs the air with perfume. Think of yourself. Your arms rest with nothing to do after weeks spent attending to others. Your thoughts turn to whether butter will last the week, how much longer the car can run on its partial tank of gas.


越过栅栏,死者悠游 而来。九点。 这是你今天第一次 独自呆着。孩子们睡了。丈夫出门了。 你手中的啤酒瓶冒着汽泡, 浓烈的熏衣草香 在空气中弥漫。想到自己。 连续几周照顾他人之后, 你的胳膊无所事事地垂下。 你的思绪飘向其他问题, 这一周的黄油是否够吃,车里的汽油 还能驶多远。

Santa Fe In Winter


The city is closing for the night. Stores draw their blinds one by one, and it's dark again, save for the dim infrequent streetlight bending at the neck like a weighted stem. Years have built the city in layers: balustrades filled in with brick, adobe reinforced with steel, and the rounded arches smoothed with white cement. Neighborhoods have changed the burro trails to streets, bare at night— no pedestrians, no cars, no dogs. With daylight, the houses turned galleries and stores turned restaurants open— the Navajos wrapped in wool crowd the Palace of the Governors plaza to sell their handmade blankets, silver rings, and necklaces to travelers who will buy jewelry as they buy everything— another charming history for themselves.


这座城市在夜晚关闭了。 商店一家挨着一家拉上卷帘门, 黑暗再次降临,只有 暗淡稀疏的街灯,垂挂着, 像负重的花茎。岁月,层层堆积起 这座城市:砖块砌成了 栏杆,钢筋巩固了土墙, 白水泥涂抹在 拱形门上。街区的 驴车道变成了 马路,夜晚,空空荡荡—— 没有行人,没有汽车,没有狗。 白昼开启了画廊, 商铺和饭店—— 裹着羊毛的纳瓦霍人 聚集在城市广场, 兜售他们的手工毛毯, 银戒指,和项链。 游客们乐意购买饰品 以及一切—— 这是另一种迷人的历史。

The Space Coast


An Airedale rolling through green frost, cabbage palms pointing their accusing leaves at whom, petulant waves breaking at my feet. I ran from them. Nights, yellow lights scoured sand. What was ever found but women in skirts folded around the men they loved that Friday? No one found me. And how could that have been, here, where even botanical names were recorded and small roads mapped in red? Night, the sky is black paper pecked with pinholes. Tortoises push eggs into warm sand. Was it too late to have come here? Everything's discovered. Everything's spoken for. The air smells of salt. My lover's body. Perhaps it is too late. I want to run the beach's length, because it never ends. The barren beach. Airedales grow fins on their hard heads, drowned surfers resurface, and those little girls who would not be called back to safety are found.


一只艾尔谷犬摇头摆尾地穿过薄霜, 棕榈树叶以责怪的神情 看着它,任性的波涛扑到我脚边。 我跑开了。夜晚,黄色的灯光 扫过沙滩。那个星期五, 除了穿裙子的女人挽着她们的情人之外, 还有什么被发现了?没有人发现我。 怎么会这样呢?在这里, 即使植物的名字也被记录下来, 小路在地图上用红线标出。 夜晚,天空是布满了针孔的黑纸。 海龟将蛋推进温暖的沙中。 因为太晚了,不该来到这里? 一切都会被发现。一切都会被说出。 空气中充满盐的气息。我情人的身体。 也许太晚了。我想奔跑 丈量沙滩的长度,因为它看不到尽头。 荒凉的沙滩。艾尔谷犬坚硬的头上 长出了鳍,被淹没的冲浪运动员 浮出水面,而那些 再也不能被平安召回的小女孩,被发现了。

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