by Collette Grace
My mother’s nightgowns are thick, heavy to the touch, swamping me when she leans down to kiss me goodnight. Well-loved fabric built to last the abuse of a thousand bedtimes, coated in the ghosts of her grandmother’s perfumes. Continue reading
Filed under Fiction
by J.M.C. Kane
My aunt Dorothy had Alzheimer’s. My mother Phyllis took charge of her care. This was not discussed. It was simply what happened. Continue reading
Filed under Nonfiction
by Aref Moalemi
Between the deaf and the mute
silence speaks in sign language—
maybe the last living tongue
left
if they don’t cut off their hands. Continue reading
Filed under Poetry
by N.C. Miller
When Amelia Birch limped up to her late husband’s burial service wearing a walking cast and dragging a sledgehammer, the crowd gasped and the minister stopped preaching. She’d been in the car accident that killed her husband a week before – that much was known – but she was released from the hospital the same night and hadn’t been seen since. There’d been a lot of talk as to what happened and why she’d skipped the funeral. So, when she showed up at the cemetery, dressed for church but looking angry, she had everyone’s full attention. Continue reading
Filed under Fiction
Hawaii Pacific Review 