Skip to content
Announcing the winners of our 2020 Poems in Translation Contest in partnership with the Academy of American Poets. Read more.
from the February 2009 issue

December 2nd, 1997, at Night

A blizzard lures us toward Poland,
bringing us almost to the border.
We should have turned north at Dresden, instead
headed due East, to halt in open farmland
whose sound is the lightest of rumbles.
Later, filling up in a prison town,
I realize we never noticed
the Chopin on the radio.


Read the author's "Sinologist"

Read more from the February 2009 issue
Like what you read? Help WWB bring you the best new writing from around the world.