by Robin E. Field
The green apron shields her muʻumuʻu from splashes of whole milk, oat milk, almond milk, the steamed milk and cold foam that crown the cups of coffee at the Starbucks on Waikīkī. Her name badge reads Lydia. Regal before the espresso machine, she sways the steam wand through the milk, graceful, precise, hips undulating before the song of steam. Continue reading
Filed under Fiction
by Travis Flatt
My dog, Hero, is double dead.
Shortly after my nephew’s parents leave for their anniversary dinner, Parker comes to me brandishing Hero’s empty food bowl, demanding why I haven’t fed her, that she must have now (double) died of starvation.
Those first few minutes of drop-off were rough; the news of Hero’s death was delivered to Parker as he ran around, eager to pet and scritch Hero. My sister-in-law and I chased him, asking him to listen. My brother, oblivious, described the guitar he’d just bought.
We caught Parker in my living room. I tried to explain that Hero died last week, gave up, and turned it over to my sister-in-law. Turns out “went to heaven” is their euphemism. Continue reading
Filed under Fiction
by Saadia Peerzada
First they took August away
and now September,
I eat a navel orange over the dustbin
so I can leave the kitchen clean. Continue reading
Filed under Poetry
by Brian Giddens
Dorothy never thought she’d live this long.
An age where she holds more losses than assets.
First husband? Heart attack. Second husband?
Didn’t linger long from cancer. Friends?
One by one by one by one, a row of dominos.
Continue reading
Filed under Poetry
by Drew Heuermann
Our hands, interlocked through the night. Doing what we can to keep
our lanterns close. Our bodies, a pair of spent tissues
floating around, too fragile to rush. A religion of inconsequence,
of passing. But what does that mean for everything in my arms?
The last mom-job of Grandma’s body was one squeeze. Almost every
body had a name once, and before they were bodies? Were we Continue reading
Filed under Poetry
