Author Archives: hipacificreview

About hipacificreview

Hawaii Pacific Review is an online literary journal based at Hawaii Pacific University.


by Daniel Garcia

It is 10:00. You are in Dr. Caneen’s English 2500 class and it is, thus far, your least favorite class of your major. You will never understand why you were required to take this course, instead of the intro to your concentration, which is Creative Writing, not Literary fucking Analysis. Regardless, she is lecturing today, but only part of you is listening, because you have a chicken biscuit in front of you, you have dipped it in barbecue sauce and, Christ, does it look divine. Continue reading

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Filed under Nonfiction


by John F. Buckley

I’ll keep the belly fat making me pant as I tie
my shoes. You can have taking the elevator.
I’ll keep the failure to floss. You can have opening
beer bottles with your teeth. I wish my canines
were still pointy. I’ll keep abdominal rumbles,
gut bloat, gassiness. I was a colicky baby, still might be. Continue reading

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Bombs Away

by Liz Prato

Bombs exploded seven miles away. Seven miles looked like a lot less at night, when the only thing between me and the bombs was a dark ribbon of ocean. The flares were like giant Roman Candles streaking into the indigo sky. Sometimes the sonic booms rattled the windows on Maui, and once an unexploded bomb landed in the Maui mayor’s cow pasture. The dark ribbon of ocean protecting me from the assault was the ʻAlalākeiki Channel, the waterway separating the southwestern coast of Maui from the island of Kaho‘olawe. Continue reading

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by Gary Lai

Ezra Pound fought with all of his might but
in the end he put a huge, ugly ai
in the middle of his big fat poem
that showed anything but love for China.
The book’s typesetter doesn’t speak Chinese
and used a font that is ten times too large. Continue reading

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Coming of Age in Maui

by Corey Pung

Coming of age in Samoa, twins Masina and Lanuola believed their father to be an Olympian. This was the story their mother told: Natia had met Toussaint when he was a merchant marine picking up cocoa beans and copra by the ton and dropping off crates of furniture, clothing, paintings and books to the American consulate in Pago Pago. Natia was leading a dissolute and unrewarding life at the time, running orders and scrubbing dishes in a Europeanized cafe within walking distance of the docks. Local boys didn’t thrill her, she said. Her daughters were at the age they simply thought boys were vasti–stupid–and didn’t catch her drift. Continue reading

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Filed under Fiction