by Bryce Berkowitz
after Donika Ross Kelly
We live in Carbondale, Illinois.
We have a wood stove, a TV antenna, and a deer head hanging on the wall.
Mom decorates it with Christmas lights, a Santa hat, and calls it Rudolph.
My favorite things are secrets, sugar-strawberries,
and pretending chopped logs are bazookas. I pick green beans in the garden
and play basketball with Dad at sunset. Continue reading
Filed under Poetry
by Malia Collins
I grew up in Hawai`i and before I learned to read, I was made to memorize the list of superstitions my mother kept posted on the side of the fridge, superstitions we’d repeat back to her, like a mantra, whenever we broke one: no whistling at night; don’t sleep with your feet towards the window or the doorway; don’t look outside once it’s dark; don’t cut your nails at night; never step over a body on the floor; don’t sweep trash outside the door; don’t cut your hair, and if you do cut your hair, save it. Continue reading
Filed under Nonfiction
by Craig Rondinone
Samantha Aybar cleared the gravy-laden plates and stained silverware from the dining room table in one swoop and hauled them into the kitchen. She slotted everything in their rightful places inside the dishwasher and swiftly slammed the door shut. Bradley, her husband of nearly a decade, noticed her furious pace as he calmly wrapped leftovers in aluminum foil. Continue reading
by Ella Flores
Even now, everything is ending.
No one knows this, but I am
fairly young, still new to, of, for
this world. Even after
all this time, I have no words
for my diving and rising, newing and unnewing, Continue reading
Filed under Poetry
by Arielle Kaimana Taramasco
as bees are soothed by smoke
I was calmed by yours
you came into my home
my buzzing turmoil
diminished with a whiff
of your cigarette Continue reading
Filed under Poetry
Hawaii Pacific Review 