Fall 2006 • Vol. XXVIII No. 4 PoetryOctober 1, 2006 |

Kubota to Nazim Hikmet in Peredelkino, Moscow, from Leupp, Arizona

I learned a sheepherder's stew last week, Nazim.Navajos taught me to make it from scrapsOf lamb from the mess, onions from the army's bags,And pine nuts I picked from the piñon trees on the walksThey allow me from time to time.                Hawks circling above,A stray's carcass on the ground crawling with maggots,A patch of mesquite, and blue clouds like Portuguese men-of-warStringing tentacles of rain across the far distance of the red rock                      plateau around me. I think of home too much, allow sorrow to swell in my throatWhenever I hear the chatter of finches or the whirr of chukar                    flushed from the sages.I recall my days hunting for plover in the grassy patches and grovesOf strawberry guava along the low ridges of the Ko'olaus                     above the cane fields.My 12-gauge made

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The Bathers, Cassis

By Garrett Hongo

I learned a sheepherder's stew last week, Nazim.Navajos taught me to make it from scrapsOf lamb from the mess, onions from the army's bags,And pine nuts I picked from the […]

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