by Rain Wright
Sister taps against headlights on the memories of the dead
horse killed by the car on the thread of a highway
at night while she dipped and rocked against dark tides
in the rain swift odor of the redwood built Hōnaunau
house with wounded light of shadow beneath
the mango and avocado hitting tin roof Continue reading
Filed under Poetry
By Gabriel Furshong
When I met Walter Breuning, on the afternoon of September 6th, 2010, he was due to turn 114 in a fortnight, a feat accomplished by less than 100 people, and only six men, in human history.
We had arranged to meet at the Rainbow retirement home in downtown Great Falls, MT, where Walter had lived for nearly 30 years. Despite my early arrival, the chirpy receptionist informed me that he was already waiting in the lounge at the end of the hall. I could hear hammering and sawing in distant reaches of the building, and it was clear that remodelers had recently been at work in the lounge of the converted hotel. Sections of the floor were covered in plastic and sheets of dry wall lay stacked near the doorway. Continue reading
Filed under Nonfiction
Filed under Poetry
By Hannah Dow
A man and a woman build a house of stones.
They do not build a roof because it never rains.
After two days, they say, what shall we drink?
The water, says the woman. Continue reading
Filed under Poetry
by T.J. Sandella
Somewhere, there’s a woman
who really loves trees. Perhaps
you think that adverb lazy, but I’m here
to tell you that I’m a man
who loves trees. I’ve learned their names: Continue reading
Filed under Poetry
Hawaii Pacific Review 