Volcan

The Paris Attacks And The Shared Humanity Of Central American Poetry

The Paris Attacks And The Shared Humanity Of Central American Poetry

I always get my hair cut when I’m in Mexico City. I have weird hair and a barber who knows how to cut it. He’s the kind of barber that slick-slacks his scissors between snips, between syllables too so that when he talks—about sports, cars, the news, anything—his speech falls from his mouth like a…