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
by Anne McCrary Sullivan
Hōkūle’a, teach me how to be on the dark sea
without a chart, clouds obscuring stars.
Teach me how to hold back panic, read the waves.
Teach me to trust the ancestors, who knew more
than I yet know how to know. Continue reading
Filed under Poetry
Hawaii Pacific Review 