by Robert W. Cording
After my brother died, my mother, the most rational person in our family, noticed red-tailed and red-shouldered hawks everywhere. Of the eighteen species in North America, these two are most common. Still, they arrived when she seemed to need them, unexpected gifts. Over the last four years, she has filled notebooks describing flight angles, call sounds, and, what I have the hardest time understanding, how these sightings helped her through her grief. Continue reading
Filed under Nonfiction
by Ace Boggess
Question asked by Sarena Fox.
At night, I can
turn the world
to darkness
with a twist,
no having to
tie a sock
around my eyes.
Friday, I walked a lap
of the yard. Just one.
It wasn’t the same. Continue reading
Filed under Poetry
by Lynda Scott Araya
Inspired by Mary Ward
In China, they eat birthday longevity noodles,
Lo mein, pulled thinner than my nerves,
cat-cradle looped over a mother’s hands like a girl’s
primary school game. Koru shaped,
they lie on a floured board,
eight metres long; perfect.
They spiral universes of possibilities, smell of warm milk,
a young baby’s neck.
Later, they are ladled abundant onto plates
and slurped unbroken for a long life to come. Continue reading
Filed under Poetry
by Desmond Everest Fuller
To our left, the neighbors we never see keep an immaculate lawn. Grass that’s beveled. A resentful neatness in their flowerbeds, while dandelions strangle our yard in yellow.
At the old green house to our right, the rhododendrons and the camellias receive tender care. In five years, we barely receive eye-contact. The fence between our yards is decomposing. We have, on occasion, wondered about shame. Continue reading
Filed under Nonfiction
Hawaii Pacific Review 