by Chip Livingston
Some an’ time jumbie dem do crash a party.
Some an’ time dem jumbie t’row dey own.
“What’s that even mean?” Kyle whispered.
I used my normal voice, noting how he tends to whisper in the dark. “According to the guidebook back at the eco-tent, jumbies are invisible spirits, tricksters, a type of duende or little people. This is one of the most secluded beaches on the island.”
“You think it’s safe at night?” Continue reading
Filed under Fiction
by Claire Scott
I ask him if he heard the banshees last night
baying at the moon, a sure sign of impending disaster
my husband is slicing radishes with a spoon
he looks up but says nothing Continue reading
Filed under Poetry
by Amber Baird
Sunshine yellow mustard caked all over my hands, America’s Favorite Brand or what the fuck ever, I grab the next bottle. Squirt out ketchup, America’s Favorite non-Newtonian fluid, in a spiral pattern on the wood-style laminate floor. Twist my hips to the soft rock anthem still blaring out of the diner’s sound system.
They announced it this morning, the death of capitalism.
by Michael Manerowski
Filed under Poetry
by Richard Schiffman
Your silence resonates in my belly
like ice crackling on a winter lake,
a trigger’s click, the report of a rifle
in the woods, a fog horn moaning
in the pea soup distance.
Filed under Poetry
Hawaii Pacific Review 