by S. Holt
Aunt Fran had called with my mother’s death announcement. She was barely intelligible, blubbering into her phone, her tears probably clogging the buttons and ports. “She ran the car in the garage,” she sobbed. “Nothing they could do, just kept her on life support until last night.” She swallowed, collected herself. “They think your father really did take her in right away. Tried CPR. Which almost makes it harder to take.”
Filed under Fiction
by V. P. Loggins
You see her float like grief
from room to room, wearing
a dress of stars, all shining in
the light of the cocktail party
and the laughter of her guests. Continue reading
Filed under Poetry
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
Hawaii Pacific Review 