by Robert Haynes
Sometimes I can’t help wanting other commuters
to think I’m shining into the foliar flush
where robins nest in the knuckle of a tree.
I wear the tweed jacket with elbow patches
ready to debate an essay. Oh sure, it’s just theater;
I’m just another nobody who rides the veins
of 30th Street with the ghost of a classroom. Continue reading
Filed under Poetry, Uncategorized
by Kiy Pozzi
a gap; a slit; the fissure a cottonwood branch makes at dawn; the stretch of time between thoughts while idling at the window. My mornings are an interstice of leisure from the two obligations that afford me my body, as are the evenings after work. But these intervals are often brief within themselves, being prone to interruption. Earlier it was my neighbor pinholed in the door, an interstice, and now it’s the blue jays going off like car alarms. The moment between their shrill calls becomes one too. Continue reading
Filed under Nonfiction
by John Grey
Behind the mist,
beyond the window, the forest,
body murmurs, refutes the
sleepy council of its dreams,
waits to be peeled apart
by an engaging fingertip.
Morning–sun so light and equal to
whatever task I give it–
and I think of the man with everything. Continue reading
Filed under Poetry
by E Townsend
My father sends me a panoramic video of an electric pink dusk settling over snowblinked Pikes Peak, the yolk of the sinking sun blown out, viewfinder shaky and fogged with cigarette ashes. I know he’s trying to hold his balance, cane gripped in his left hand, Motorola weaving like an unsteady heartline in right. Continue reading
Filed under Nonfiction
by Courtney Hitson
This sky unpeeled her eyelids’ opal interiors
and tossed you in the ocean—blotches of rainbow
bled onto your scales. Like flicking
shiny, pastel wishes into the sea. Diving, Continue reading
Filed under Poetry
Hawaii Pacific Review 