by Tiffany Hsieh
The train draws to a halt in the tunnel. Next stop: who gives? Estimated time of arrival: how long does it take to clean up after a jumper? Shifting my weight from one foot to the other, I think about the cleaner who scrubs the tracks. Do they do that? Scrub the tracks. Continue reading
Filed under Poetry
by Lannie Stabile
Phil liked to do things the old-fashioned way. When his lawn needed water, he spent hours standing outside with the hose nozzle, waving it back and forth like a wand in the palm of a slow and steady wizard. It was more personal than the automatic sprinkler his ex-wife Dorene had wanted to install. More intimate. And he was certain his grass appreciated this special attention and therefore grew lusher. Continue reading
Filed under Fiction
by Kenton K. Yee
after Charles Simic
These things must have been invented
by a starving thinker:
how they resemble his long flamingo legs
as he straddles the library urinal.
Continue reading
Filed under Poetry
by Helena Pantsis
Uncle Dick took a swig of the whiskey, then passed it along to Dad. We felt the house tremble above us. Jeremy stood tall at a corner by the far side of the stairs, reaching his hand up to the crack in the door we’d attempted to stuff with loose packing foam and tape.
“I can feel a breeze,” he said. Continue reading
Filed under Fiction
by Glen Armstrong
She held it behind her back, and the lights dimmed. The world wore orthopedic shoes. What was missing seduced; what was left sedated.
Filed under Poetry
Hawaii Pacific Review 