Hawaii Pacific Review

by hipacificreview | 08/31/2017 · 7:32 am

Harness

By Brian Druckenmiller

The uncle jerry-rigs a leash for Walter, his hamster, using fishing line and the rubber band bracelet his niece wove for him a month before she drowned. The bands have begun to wither, some singeing away like slow dynamite fuses, and the colors have dulled—even the once vibrant teal, his niece’s favorite.

“Teal is my favorite, too,” he remembers saying as she sat cross-legged on her bedroom carpet, alive, fashioning a fishtailed bracelet with her rubber band loom. Using a long plastic hook like a dental tool, she pulled teal on top of black on top of gold on top of teal. Continue reading →

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by hipacificreview | 08/24/2017 · 8:34 am

After the Old Woman Went Down

by Landon Houle

Those of us who saw it first stood stunned and still. Every eye and mouth hung open. Every hand fused into a mitten of clumsy incompetence. In that deceptive peace (because no one spoke or moved and yet inside us something began to build like breath upon breath), we were nothing more than blow-up dolls down for anything but real love. Continue reading →

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by hipacificreview | 08/17/2017 · 10:25 am

Nights with Oscar

by Walter Bargen

Diesel exhaust chokes the room. Engines work overtime.
Naked body pounds
against naked body. In perdition’s factory,
they push poverty’s gravity
another thirty days
and balance their lives with time-and–a-half.
The monthly paycheck a week’s resurrection.
Dark fumes, not just the windows open to the street,
but the oily rags of love ready to combust. Continue reading →

Friended

by Lois Leveen

It isn’t a book, this
Facebook, although
when I open it, I see a page
with all these faces and one
of them is yours. Every time
I see that photo of your face
it reminds me of you
being dead. Continue reading →

The Blinding of Emmy Lou Ketchum

by Mark Conkling

There are many paths to a full-blown narcissistic personality. Jeff’s journey was unique because it began at such an early age, on his second birthday. His morning featured a steady stream of poopy diapers, the sour smell of milk, and yet another bowl of lumpy oatmeal. In the late afternoon, Jeff’s one-month-old wailing sister was the only guest for his celebration. Mom tried to make the party nice, but after burying his hands in the cake, Jeff smeared pink frosting on his face and ears, licked his lips and hands, climbed down from the high chair, and tottered into his bedroom, clearly disinterested, aloof. Continue reading →

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