by David Rogers
Regret–
that was the real original sin
The river flows a different way
To paddle against it for long is folly
Hummingbird and mockingbird
nest on branches Continue reading
Eve Interviews Lilith and Asks if She Has Regrets
Bloom’s Women
by Francine Witte
Bloom isn’t much. Near 60, and like a bag of saggy potatoes. On top of that he smells. Like urine mixed with tobacco. But there are women, a number of them now, who find his odd smell sexy. Animal pheromones it says to their lonely vaginas. Continue reading
Filed under Fiction
The Drive
by Ciera Horton McElroy
They do not leave by night. It is Mother’s Day, bright and warm for the Dakotas—rolling clouds and a lollipop-yellow sun. They leave in plain sight. Rose’s knitting bundle is hidden in Andy’s briefcase, her toiletries stowed in Marta’s purse. Her thick waffle robe is stuffed with pill bottles, Bible, pearls. They help her to the car in slow, mincing steps. They say things like, “We’re taking you to the falls, Ma,” or “Isn’t it such a nice day for a drive?” Continue reading
Schnegurochka
by Sam Grieve
I was married to my husband for twenty-three years, seven months, nine days, and fifteen hours. He died at three o’clock on a February afternoon. A Tuesday. I have always liked Tuesdays. Continue reading
Filed under Fiction
The Ida Poplowski Chronicles
by Maddie Woda
My father says his fifth grade teacher was Guy Fieri’s grandmother. She had red hair and freckles, according to my father, and taught social studies in the trailer duct taped to the actual elementary school. He, my father, and apparently she, Guy Fieri’s grandmother, are both from Powhatan Point, Ohio, a crusty junction of Ohio and West Virginia in the Ohio River Valley. Food is love in Powhatan Point, just like food is love in most places, and my grandmother (not Guy Fieri’s) owned two restaurants while my father was growing up. One was called the Wigwam (I do not debate the politics of this moniker with my father. What’s done is done). The other was called Dorelli’s, manned by Doris and Ellie, my grandmother and great-aunt respectively, before they were my grandmother and great-aunt. Continue reading
Filed under Nonfiction
Hawaii Pacific Review 