The Front by Gina María Caruso

BOMB 12 Spring 1985
012 Spring Summer 1985

Perhaps this is the last time you will wake
to witness the moon entering portioned yards
now gone
a light substance
wavers from his body
like an ancient city at night burning
through each window.
As if you were listening to its faint beating
still heavy with love and drink
so light it fills your hand,
and you embrace him like a dear child
who does not understand your embraces
in the mountains without food or sleep
as rain rinses the soil and blood
over his body
his olive-green uniform.

Translated from the Spanish by Charles Tarzian.

Gina María Caruso, poet, teaches at the Packer School and has recently returned from a trip to Nicaragua. She is writing a book on the Nicaraguan youth movement.

If Death . . . by Miguel Huezo Mixco
Remembrance And Elegy For A Sailor by Claudia Lars

“Does my voice not reach you, are you not haunted
by its somber testimony?”

After the Massacre by Carlos Fonseca
Hernan Ronsino 01

Staging historical justice in Hernán Ronsino’s Glaxo

Álvaro Enrigue by Scott Esposito
Enrigue Bomb 01

“A writer worried about reception is cooking a dead book. A writer’s job is to produce the best possible book in absolute freedom, so the category ‘acceptable’ does not play in the process at all.”

Originally published in

BOMB 12, Spring 1985

Cindy Sherman, Dario Fo, Bruce Weber, Lisa Fonssagrives-Penn, and Raymond Voinquel.

Read the issue
012 Spring Summer 1985