by Nancy Ford Dugan
They came in the night and took our values.
Someone (in the mailroom? from the cleaning service?) stripped all the plexiglass stands on each desk of the teal-blue sheet of paper that proudly listed all our corporate values.
The Hero Wakes up in a White Room
by D.S. Maolalai
You’ve seen it before.
They say a lot of writers
begin
with something like it,
because they are looking
at starting
on a white page,
and I believe them,
because most writers
are nothing
if not suggestible.
Filed under Poetry
Childless
by Natalie Crick
I lost six children here in the wood.
Even now, I see
bright hair flashes in pools of sun;
babies’ hair.
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Filed under Poetry
Thirty Years of Papa
by Kapena Landgraf
She touched nothing. Papa had died thirty years earlier, but Tutu refused to disturb what he left behind. His shirts still hung in the open closet—button-downs of light blues and whites pressed at the center with sharply ironed cuffs. Brown trousers, thick cotton and wool. Black shoes with silver buckles. Checkered neckties. Handkerchiefs tucked into the front pockets of blazers.
Filed under Fiction
Yukimitsu Monogatari
by John Gerard Fagan
Yukimitsu sat cross-legged by an unlit fire. The room was still except for a slither of light inching under the door. Tea bubbled somewhere out in the dark; the smell made his throat run and jutted him out of his dream-like daze. He coughed and his breath smoked. Longed for the days before he served at Court. Longed to hear her voice in the now silent rice fields.
Filed under Fiction
Hawaii Pacific Review 