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 Daniel Donaghy
Winding through the aisles
with my oversized cart,
I smile at everyone:
the pink-haired stock clerk
bobbing to a song streaming
through her AirPods; Continue reading
Hawaii Pacific Review 