by Lauren Claus
While you rest and remain, those branches
burn. The smoke reminds me of singing.
Our lake is safe, but it’s the scab of sea,
nothing much to miss. We were in its waves
when you told me how the Greeks could have
set us on fire. Each day I dream, your face a fire,
by Daniel Uncapher
Shelter’s got some really good ideas but I don’t always know what to make of them.
We met on a dating app, which he says he uses strictly for technical inspiration with the single exception of my case specifically, and it was his idea to delete the app together.
I’d been experimenting with the concept of dispossession in general and loved the idea. I went ahead and deleted my news app, too, after reading that 357 whales beached themselves again in New Zealand and no one can say why the sweet saps did it.
Filed under Fiction
by Chrys Tobey
which used to be our house, the key I’ve offered to return, but
you insisted, Keep it in case you want to visit the cats, and since
by Jen Michalski
“We’ll come back some other weekend,” your mother says. You sit in the parking lot, all four windows of the Subaru open, because your mother, in her quest to get the best gas mileage, doesn’t believe in air conditioning.
“We’re turning around and going home?” You look at her in disbelief. About three miles before the exit for Kings Dominion, you’d discovered, while rooting for Tic Tacs in your mother’s purse, that the discounted tickets she’d bought a month before at the grocery store were missing. Not missing–you could see them very clearly in your mind, at home on the dining room table next to the electric bill where she’d left them. Continue reading
Filed under Fiction
by Orlando Ricardo Menes
Winter waves strew seaweed on tarred sands.
Threadbare clouds vagabond in calico skies.
We wake in that backseat freckled with burns,
Your sun-bleached Nova stranded overnight
By the coconut trees, and kiss with dry lips, Continue reading
Filed under Poetry
Hawaii Pacific Review 