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Suffer the Little Children: The Hidden Economics of Promoting Youth Violence
Alice LoCicero Sarasi "HER MOTHER BURNED," the small Tamil girl said, whispering into my ear, in a too-loud whisper. It was a balmy morning, the start of another 100-degree Sri Lankan day. "In a camp," she continued, pointing at Sarasi, a beautiful child whose dark eyes were strong, determined, and distant. Deaths were agonizingly common in the lives of children born during the 26-year civil war, but life and death in one of the dreaded camps for Internally Displaced Persons (IDP), especially a death by fire, was worthy of notice. Sarasi picked up the story, as if reciting into the air. "My mother was cooking when her clothes caught fire. I was down the road getting water. I heard her screams, but others got there before me." She paused. "Later, she died." The camp where Sarasi's mother was killed was an IDP camp for ethnic Tamils displaced in the war that pitted them, a separatist minority, against the Sinhalese-dominated government. when faith and hope are sliced away from love there are mornings full of 2nd Poetry Excerpt Altazor Canto Two Mujer el mundo está amueblado portus ojos Al irte dejas una estrella en tu sitio Altazor Canto Two Translated from the Spanish by Dalt Wonk Woman, it is your eyes that make the world habitable. When you depart, a star remains in your place — 3rd Poetry Excerpt The Inflatable Poet Take me to Volterra, cypress trees blowing me up as they bend. 4th Poetry Excerpt You Were Gargoyles On the ultrasounds. Bunny
Richard Andersen I HATED BUNNY TALIAFERRO BEFORE I EVER laid eyes on him. How could you not, with a name like "Bunny"? He wasn't even Italian. And I don't care if he was only sixteen. He looked like he was going on thirty. If you'd told me he was married, with two kids, I would've believed you before I believed the other things people said about him: the first kid in history of Springfield Tech to get a letter in varsity football, in basketball, and in baseball as a freshman? There had to be two Taliaferros. And he didn't just letter; he was a star. That's how he got the name Bunny. The newspapers gave it to him; he was so fast and hard to catch on the football field; he was like a jack rabbit. The name and the image carried over onto the basketball court, where he led his team in scoring, and it went with him onto the baseball diamond where he accumulated more base hits than anyone else in the league. Pretty soon everybody — teachers, coaches, even people like me who didn't know him — was calling him Bunny. I guess it was better than Ernest, but not by much. And no last name either. Just Bunny. 2nd Fiction Excerpt Enlightenment I'D BEEN ALONE IN THE BAR for close to three hours when the old guy walked in. He took a seat at the end of the bar, ordered a Dewar's and soda, and immediately launched into his life story. To hear him tell it, he'd done almost everything there was to do. 3rd Fiction Excerpt Englene DET VAR SLÅET STORT OP I AVISEN. På siden med forlystelser var det annonceret som en sensation, og de talte om det ved morgenbordet, fordi det var søndag og de havde tid til også at læse annoncerne. Drengen råbte straks op om, at det ville han se, og moderen bed takefuldt sit rundstykke til krummer, mens hun gentog annoncens ordlyd for at overtyde sig om, at der ikke var tale om en misforståelse, men at det stód der sort på hvidt og så yderst troværdigt ud: NYT I ZOO - VOLIÈRE MED ENGLE - „Jeg troede ellers ikke, at engle --“henvendte hun sig undrende til faderen, som blot svarede at, „hvad ved man“, og drengen hylede, at han ville af sted med det samme, men skønt dét også var moderens største ønske, lod hun fornuften råde og foreslog, at de ventede, til det blev mandag, fordi der en søndag altid var håbløst med mennesker foran alle bure, og hvordan ville det så ikke være sådan en dag med den sensation, enestående i Europa, som der havde sået i avisen.... Angels THE STORY WAS ALL OVER THE NEWSPAPERS. The events calendar called it a sensation, and because it was a Sunday and they had time to read the announcements, they talked about it around the breakfast table. Right away, the boy shouted he had to see it. The mother nibbled her breakfast roll thoughtfully into crumbs, and repeated the sound of the announcement to convince herself that she hadn't misunderstood, that it was truly printed in black and white: NEW AT THE ZOO--ANGELS IN CAGES. 4th Fiction Excerpt Union I HURRY HOME, PULL INTO THE DRIVEWAY, OPEN the trunk, and grab all six plastic grocery bags. Dropping the bags on the kitchen counter, I go out to the living room, where the TV is blasting.
Melissa is watching an old Joan Crawford film on cable. It's not going to surprise me if she goes into some aspect of filmmaking. She has no yen to try acting, nor costume nor set design, so I'm wondering if she's going to end up behind a camera. Nick told me last week that he's saving up to buy a video camera for her for Christmas. Struck me as a pretty damned expensive gift for a fifteen-year old. 5th Fiction Excerpt Gag WE'RE IN MY OFFICE AND BRIANA'S ASKING, "How long have you lived in San Francisco?" and before I can say five years and isn't the weather lovely, she's nodding like they all do. The talent at Gag, the online fetish emporium where I serve as bookkeeper, often assume I'm gay. Sipping a Diet Coke as she makes inspection (my style recalls a thwarted architect: dull-gray hair, rimless reading glasses, crushed corduroy jacket), Briana, I'm thinking, has me down as the quiet type. No parade-floats for me. No here and queer and get used to it. Safe, woolly, and monogamous. And in a way, of course, she's right. Samuel Bak
The Boy from the Warsaw Ghetto The famous photograph of the Warsaw boy being held at gunpoint by SS officers was taken during the clearing of the Warsaw ghetto that took place between April 19 and May 16, 1943. It was one of 49 photographs contained in an album assembled by Jürgen Stroop, the German police commander in charge of putting down the Warsaw uprising and cleansing the ghetto of its remaining 60,000 inhabitants. The album, intended as a report and birthday present for Heinrich Himmler, the Reichsführer of the SS, was entitled “THE JEWISH QUARTER OF WARSAW IS NO MORE”. Representing the Irreparable: |
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