by Damien Uriah
the present word sleeps
in a wet tennis shoe laid on a tarp
while the nameless bird sings from the south
as if resting in the sky
in another world the river woman sneaks up behind me
her footprints travelling as rocks Continue reading
Filed under Poetry
by Elizabeth Crowell
When my son weighed a pound a half,
his breath lagged like a dragging step.
His heart murmured, unclosed,
and so they opened that tiny, living body up. Continue reading
by Matthew LaFreniere
We drive, my mother and I, down
Timberlake, not silent but not talking,
the neons of store signs and brake lights stark Continue reading
Filed under Poetry
by Cammy Thomas
Orbiting above the earth, spinning
in solitude and fear, watching
earth loop by in its interstellar
loneliness, caught in my spacesuit,
air running out, can’t stop the wobble— Continue reading
Filed under Poetry
by Stephani Nur Colby
From the memoir Walking with the Ineffable by Green Writers Press
Sometimes the clinical unit felt as if, rather than being rooted on mothership earth, it was idly circling in the meteor belt deep in space. The twelve severely and profoundly cognitively impaired children who lived in its cinderblock and linoleum capsule seemed to ramble – those who could ramble – in a kind of Brownian movement, unfocussed, drifting by walls and chairs as if impelled by eccentric, unseen gravitational forces that sent them hither and thither, reasonless. The children themselves often seemed like lonely asteroids, shot out of the shattered core of some larger planet where parts of them – the parts that gave speech, sight, hearing, linear reason, functional ability, even varying degrees of physical motion – had been left behind. And here they were, still trying to live out their lives – butterflies with only one wing. Continue reading
Filed under Nonfiction
Hawaii Pacific Review 