Hawaii Pacific Review

by hipacificreview | 12/19/2013 · 11:40 am

A Carol of Mothers and Menorahs

by Mark Brazaitis

Becca Bishop missed her flight back to San Francisco and stayed in Pittsburgh, the last town on her Stealing Fire from the Sun tour, drinking merlot from a bottle she bought at a liquor store three blocks from her hotel at the edge of a neighborhood she knew she should have been terrified of. The next day, instead of boarding her flight to San Francisco (her bandmates were driving to California in a van), she rented a Ford Focus and soon found herself on the decrepit asphalt of the Pennsylvania Turnpike, heading toward Ohio and the town where she was born.

It was Christmas Eve. Continue reading →

X-MAS

by Alec Hershman

I buried my face
in the coats, my face in the wreath
on the door—cinnamon bristles
and the party behind me
warped in ornaments. I felt the cold outside Continue reading →

1 Comment

Filed under Poetry

Tagged as Alec Hershman

by hipacificreview | 12/12/2013 · 2:06 pm

Haoles: An Excerpt from Between Sky and Sea

by Donald Carreira Ching

Mark woke half-dreaming, his head still buzzing from the night before. Tihani was curled up beside him, sunlight and salt air filling the room. He slipped out of bed and to the open window. In the distance, Diamond Head met sapphire waters. Waves broke champagne white. He watched the collection of tourists spread out across the beach below, squatting under umbrella tops and tanning on towels, and pictured himself a shade amongst the faces. Nothing truly familiar, Mark smiled and took it in. Continue reading →

Love Letter

by Zachary Lundgren

Out of love and out of beer
we drove around a cold October
dusk, looking for girls
who never called. In these woods, Continue reading →

1 Comment

Filed under Poetry

Tagged as Zachary Lundgren

by hipacificreview | 12/05/2013 · 2:45 pm

Sunny’s Last Game

by Ruvanee Pietersz Vilhauer

On the day of the last game, Sunny climbed into the car with a black eye. The discoloration was barely noticeable on his skin, which was only a couple of shades lighter than mine, but I could not miss the bruise because of the puffiness of his right eyelid.

I pretended nonchalance, although there was a compressed sensation in my chest. Sunny tried to heave his backpack onto the back seat, panting, his breath smelling of orange soda. It took seven attempts because the pack was heavy and almost as big as his torso, and because he had to contend with his coordination skills. I gripped the steering wheel to curb my urge to help. Continue reading →