by John McCarthy
Cold showers move the blood,
an injection, like milk spreading
through coffee, the billowing
visible through a glass cup.
I think of ice, warmth
transformed and the guard rail
giving way like memory,
the plummeting
into frozen river. Continue reading
Filed under Poetry
by Lori Lamothe
The Romans referred to these tattooed tribes in Latin as “Pictii,” which translates as “The Painted Ones.” -John Corney
The past opens its pores until at last
I’m drawing a diary of remembering—
battles strung across the small of my back,
a lover’s ghost haunting a shoulder blade,
the birth of a child balanced on a curve of hip.
My skin pricked with so much blue
all the pain turns inside out— Continue reading
by Gina Ferrara
Edible fruit of welcome,
succulent and nearly crystallized,
I cannot eat your golden pulp
nor touch your headdress
of dramatic leaves. Continue reading
Filed under Poetry
by Nicole Santalucia
I always thought my last name came from a boat
that sailed across the world
but I was confused
that was the Santa Maria
not that my name hasn’t traveled on boats
or shined shoes
or sewed the soles of feet Continue reading
Filed under Poetry
by Kate Kingston
From a porch overlooking a garden,
a prepositional phrase
flings itself over the balcony landing face-first
in a throng of nouns
all holding active verbs like revolvers
and stringing conjunctions
between them like safety nets. Continue reading
Filed under Poetry
Hawaii Pacific Review 