by John Coyne
In the final days of our in-country Peace Corps training in Ethiopia, we had a
celebration dinner at the Guenet Hotel in the Populari section of the capital, Addis Ababa.
The Guenet Hotel, even in 1962, was one of the older hotels in Addis Ababa. It wasn’t in the center of town, but south of Smuts Street and down the hill from Mexico Square, several miles from where we were housed in the dormitories of Haile Selassie I University. While out of the way, this small, two-story rambling hotel, nevertheless, had a two-lane, American-style bowling alley; tennis courts; and most surprising of all, an African lion in its lush, tropical gardens.
by Matthew Schmidt
ate a gigantic rat with a tail
long as his body.
belched loud as his rattle.
by Craig Cotter
Tapped him on the shoulder and handed him
my chewed grape gum—
he didn’t smile,
looked in my eyes,
“Let sleeping dogs lie,” you say
rolling over when I tell you
Molly and Leopold Bloom slept
head to tail end, stopped
by Lauren Claus
While you rest and remain, those branches
burn. The smoke reminds me of singing.
Our lake is safe, but it’s the scab of sea,
nothing much to miss. We were in its waves
when you told me how the Greeks could have
set us on fire. Each day I dream, your face a fire,