by Matthew R. K. Haynes
It was the nicest day in two weeks. High spring. Seventy-five, slight breeze. Winter had been long and painful, filled with an ended relationship and the keen fracturing that it brings. The park was loaded with parents donning tight faces, letting the sun release the grip of their own snowy fevers. Kids played on swings and monkey bars, rolled in the grass, and made new friends. I was playing tennis, an hour in, having won the first set with clean forehands, straight up the line. During the set break Sean, my tennis partner, tended to his seven-year-old daughter and their eight-week-old boxer, who played just outside the tennis fence. A man walked by carrying a guitar with his black and white spaniel. He unleashed her and threw a ball. A woman in a pink tank top walking three small dogs stopped to pet Sean’s puppy. A family with their motley-colored, floppy-eared mutt sat across the playground, eating sandwiches, drinking Gatorade. Continue reading
Hawaii Pacific Review 