by Lisa Higgs
Along the edges of snowmelt, a thin skin
of what is not ice, of what is not snow,
but some rare weave of form passing its twin
in selfsame geneses. Strand of marrow,
waiting its tide. Pull of light a discipline
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From Conversations Imagined
Filed under Poetry
Stone
by Darrell Dela Cruz
A stone forms inside of me.
A collection of salt I consumed
and loved–oversaturated fries,
opaque eggs. For years I let the smoke
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Sated
by Richard Dinges, Jr.
Hills breathe gusts.
Great green lungs
fill with dust
piled under ashen
sky holding back
tears. A blue sadness
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Filed under Poetry
Mixed
by Laurel Nakanishi
I will not hide the hollow bodies of my prairie ancestors, those wrapped up in gun-smoke out where it is never really blue or cloudless. I have their muddied green eyes, their nose pinched against cold. My clothes bunched out as theirs, but I don’t double-knot my apron. I have none.
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Trout
by Melissa Slayton
Whether it was the cinnamon time, fall,
or spring, the time of the mayapples,
you could smell our bonfires from a hundred miles out at sea,
and the coast swam with clotted villages–
a thick mass–and the trees fell and fell
and the trout swam in this river big as dogs.
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Filed under Poetry
Hawaii Pacific Review 