by M. Anne Kala`i
Naiwi’s first and only visit to the mainland nearly burned him down. Desperate to escape the island that knew him better than he knew himself, he sold what valuables he could scrape together from distracted vacationers and his cash-strapped family, and lit out for California. Continue reading
Filed under Fiction
by Mollie Hawkins
1. When he started his job at the organic grocery store, Produce Man brings me apples with names like poems: Pink Lady. Ambrosia. Gala. American Beauty. He brings me the sweet ones he knows I will like.
2. I know three kinds of apples: Red Delicious, the mouth-puckering Granny Smith, and whatever bitter kind grows on my grandmother’s trees in the Alabama woods.
3. Produce Man and I don’t feel like grownups. We slip in and out of college, like we are window shopping at a luxury department store. Work schedules and school schedules do not overlap on our Venn diagrams. Continue reading
Filed under Nonfiction
Hawaii Pacific Review 