by M. Cynthia Cheung
If, like salamanders, we were born
with fault lines built in,
tucked deep
between planes of flesh,
the day-to-day might
be easier. No need
to defend, or even explain. Continue reading
Category Archives: Poetry
Autotomist
Filed under Poetry
My Mother’s Middle-School Yearbook
by Alex Manuel
Some names were highlighted
in a faded yellow marker, and I don’t understand why.
The first few were boys. Initially I thought
they might’ve been her school-yard crushes,
but I doubt my mom had a crush
on her chubby English teacher. In his photo, he wore
glasses that made his ears bulge out.
A jokester chicken-scratched
Dumbo by his name. Continue reading
Filed under Poetry
Beggars and Begging
by Deborah H. Doolittle
We praise the dog when it raises
its paw. Laugh out loud when its
lolling tongue belies the earnest
effort of his concentration. Continue reading
Filed under Poetry
The Prisoner
by Mary Crow
We set up camp in a painted tomb
below the desert where first rays
gilded stepped pyramids,
and we rose to white heat while boats
floated by without a ripple.
Nothing happened
but anarchy of sand and wind,
dynasties that began and ended with us,
extent of the known world
beyond which lay our inner darkness.
Continue reading
below the desert where first rays
gilded stepped pyramids,
and we rose to white heat while boats
floated by without a ripple.
Nothing happened
but anarchy of sand and wind,
dynasties that began and ended with us,
extent of the known world
beyond which lay our inner darkness.
Continue reading
Filed under Poetry
Hawaii Pacific Review 