by Meredith MacLeod Davidson
As a solo violist, I rued the overt.
I faked it in performance.
I told my grandmother
(a woman who paid for two
degrees in music education)
I faked it in performance.
Overture
Filed under Poetry
Black and White Photograph
by John Tustin
I see the moment in my mind
As if I was not a participant but witnessed it –
Like an old black and white photograph
Of two people in a single speck of time
That has defined their entire lives to a stranger.
Filed under Poetry
Short Voicemail on the End of the Season
by Ellery Beck
I am sick of walking on the sidewalk with cicadas as they sing their last songs. I’m back on the way to class, late—was sitting with a raven, she seemed like she couldn’t fly. How could you expect me not to stay? The big leaves, the ones that swallow my hands when I hold them, are starting to fall. Continue reading
Filed under Nonfiction
Ritual
by Simon Anton Niño Diego Baena
As the fire spreads,
the only thing that is left on the pages
are scorched words.
Filed under Poetry
Hawaii Pacific Review 