We’re delighted to announce the six finalists for this annual award.
With a stutter and a sneeze,
that’s how, with catch as
catch can, with a quick
spritz of cologne, a shake
of good-luck charms. Where they
can, that’s where . . .
A deer arrives for you in a yellow PT Cruiser. A woman slides out of the atrocious car, her face sun-freckled, her hair sun-bleached. She is no-nonsense about this deer. She says that she found him next to his mother, who was dead by the side of the road . . .
Twenty years ago, I went to Santiago de Cuba to gather material for a magazine article on the centennial of the Spanish–American War. Over the course of several days, I visited Daiquirí, Siboney, Las Guásimas, El Caney, and of course San Juan Hill—all the main sites associated with that war. All, that is, except one: Guantánamo Bay.