by Edythe Haendel Schwartz
Pahoehoe lava shelf. Blue skies.
Wind on our tongues, we speak of her,
brace ourselves to meet each jolt of memory–
how her fingers could pull octopi
from holes. Wind on our tongues, we speak
of heart, of ribs the surgeons pulled apart
the way her fingers would pull octopi
from holes. Surgeons tried to fix the fault Continue reading
by N.T. Arévalo
I.
The Toncontin International Airport, the actual landing strip, is one of the shortest (most dangerous) on the planet. The pilot descends quickly into a canyon, ducking a mountain, and when the plane hits the tarmac, it must do so at an exacting speed so it brakes before the cliff. That’s right: the cliff. There’s even a traffic light to pause motorists as the plane’s wheels dip a fistful of feet from the highway. Continue reading
Filed under Nonfiction
by Arah Ko
King Kamehameha stands, shrouded in gold,
staring out into the open
ocean, gazing east, right hand held out:
a greeting, or perhaps a sign for white Continue reading
Filed under Poetry
by Caitlin Friel
Scientifically speaking, there is always distance between two objects. Like when you’re touching someone, you’re not actually touching them at all. The electrons that exist on the outer limits of the atoms that comprise everything repel one another. So every sensation we feel on our skin, in our mouths, and everywhere else on our bodies is really just repulsion. Continue reading
Filed under Fiction
by Juliet S. Kono
I.
Every bone of roast chicken we ate
at my grandparents’ we stripped
of meat and sucked, before adding them
to the bowl for Mother to take.
She washed the clacking bones
and boiled them for hours, Continue reading
Filed under Poetry
Hawaii Pacific Review 