by Ann Cefola
–For Katherine Tompkins McCollom (1923-2019)
Each late September day, a monarch crosses my path, looping on air—
a trampoline, a highway, a portal; voyager from Vermont, milkweed-fat and nectar-full,
heading always—I turn to face it too—south, from plaited cornfields
relieved of spiked gold—knee-high by the Fourth of July— Continue reading
by R.A. Pavoldi
Alan used to haul lobster from this bay
pulling traps from the thick breathing air,
dove under in winter for urchins spiny
and cold on the dark green shelves,
a slow crab breathing through a hose
while his life held its breath waiting above. Continue reading
Filed under Poetry
by Terra Oliveira
four & a half million people
visit the island of O`ahu
per year, watch the red sun
climb down into the Pacific,
escape into paradise, laugh
with the water
as petroleum from Red Hill
leaks under the island, Continue reading
Filed under Poetry
by Michael Copperman
When I saw uncle Robert out back of my Aunty Ruby’s house after mochi-making a few days before the New Year, I was in my early twenties and he seemed unchanged from my memories of childhood. His weathered koa skin was carved with deep smile-lines, and he still was spry, always the first to leap to help to lift a table or shoulder a bag of rice. It was the first time I’d been back to the islands since my grandpa’s funeral—probably seven years before—and Robert set his veiny brown hand on my shoulder and squeezed a greeting, then held out two plastic bags of pomelos the size of basketballs. “For you!” He sat down next to me on the cinder block beneath the eaves. “I know you Lynny boy, you always liked da kine jabon. You always ate ‘em till they were gone. Bet you still like peel ‘em to eat ‘em all one time, eh? I show you how.” Continue reading
Filed under Nonfiction
by Melissent Zumwalt
The prompt from writing class last week was, “Summertime—wishful thinking—the summers of youth and their unparalleled magic:” an exercise intended to be fun, upbeat. Good Lord! I’d thought, was I the only one without a fondness for their childhood summers? Certainly, summer couldn’t mean the same thing for all of us? Because the first image that came to me, strong and resonant, was a can of Campbell’s Chunky Soup, Sirloin Burger. The memory loomed so large, took up so much emotional space, there wasn’t any way to stop the mental film reel from re-playing: Continue reading
Filed under Nonfiction
Hawaii Pacific Review 