by Marianne Kunkel
A joke.
But really, I mean it—
cradle her warm, wiggly body
dripping in lace blankets.
Eggshell-sleek
face, eyes like dark pencil marks
gouging paper. Continue reading
What I Mean When I Say I Want to Hold My Grandmother When She Was a Baby
Filed under Poetry
From a Drained Concrete Pool
by Everett Jones
My skateboard throws me off, front wheels
caught on a rock in the shallow
end. My knees kiss pavement and instinct shuts
my eyes before I glide Continue reading
Filed under Poetry
Last Light
by Vanessa Blakeslee
Three days before Columbus Day weekend, the Aurora borealis was predicted to shine over New England with the best chances for clear night skies over coastal Maine, and the elderly father insisted that his sons drive him to see the phenomenon. He and their mother had always yearned to see the Northern Lights but had missed their chance, now that she had passed away in August. A trip to see the Northern Lights was something he wanted to do on what would have been their anniversary weekend, his first as a widower, to honor her memory. Continue reading
Filed under Fiction
That Ship Has Sailed
by AJ Saur
And, yet, I stand at the end of this pier
in ovation of the horizon—its long stretch
of periphery, the far wings of a seagull
from which you are certain to emerge in a bow Continue reading
Filed under Poetry
The Scorpio
by Khadijah Abdul Haqq
The first day of the conference, I tell myself that I must give people a chance based on their personalities and not where the sun sat in the sky the day they were born. I remind myself that not everyone born in January shares my unequivocal thirst for solitude or management. And that I am a Muslim and referring to zodiac signs is against my religion. Continue reading
Filed under Nonfiction
Hawaii Pacific Review 