by Eva Lomski
a fuk a fuk a fuk
She wished she knew the species of tropical bird in the palm tree making that call, because she wanted to pin a medal to its chest. Late afternoon, just as the sun disappeared from the pool, and champagne corks were heard popping all over the resort, a fuk a fuk a fuk it called, tiredly, plaintively, to a potential rival or mate.
by Mitsuko Takayasu
(translated by Toshiya Kamei)
Vermeer blue
hydrangeas in bloom
are infinitely gentle mirrors on the water surface.
A rainbow after the rain stretches
across the blue sky above me.
Filed under Poetry
by Lucas Smith
Why the parentals let us
I still don’t know, but a Dad’s
promise was a promise, your Mom said
so we motored out, you in bed,
the solid sea forgiving.
Filed under Poetry
by Kate McCorkle
Sitting at a one-chair table—the one shoved into a dusty nook between decorative pillars—at the Borders’ café, I hoped I might not cry in public. At least not the snot-bubble sobbing that erupts when I’m alone. Walking the dog. Cleaning. In the car. At my desk. Maybe it would just be the repressive, misty-eyed weeping I manage for work or church or the grocery store. The fluttering dabs around the eye with a balled-up tissue, like my body is merely leaking.
Filed under Nonfiction
by Francine Witte
is just for the moment. Everything
has to go back. Even the sky,
all grabby with rain, at some point,
will have to let go. Continue reading
Hawaii Pacific Review 