I saw the doors closing behind me: military green, school green, hospital green doors. My two friends stayed behind, smiling and wishing me good luck. If you had told me I’d never see the girl again, I wouldn’t have believed you.
Yesterday I visited the birthplace of Sandino in Nicaragua: Niquinohomo. Yo soy del pueblo que un niño en Niquinohomo soñó. Soy del pueblo de Sandino y Benjamín Zeledón —Yo soy de un pueblo sencillo, by Luis Enrique Mejía Godoy (see the complete lyrics and my translation below) Benjamín Zeledón’s fortress —the political prison We
Poverty anywhere is poverty everywhere.* Why is that? Why are other people’s problems my problems? Are we all together in this? How can we be together in this if I don’t know who they are, why are we here? If I can’t feel them as I can feel my body. Do my toenails know about