by Christian Hanz Lozada
“I’m Nani’s husband. Not that Nani, the other one,
Papa’s granddaughter, no, we never met.
I’m calling to say, Papa had a stroke.
There’s nothing to do he might get better.” Continue reading
by Christian Hanz Lozada
“I’m Nani’s husband. Not that Nani, the other one,
Papa’s granddaughter, no, we never met.
I’m calling to say, Papa had a stroke.
There’s nothing to do he might get better.” Continue reading
Filed under Poetry
by Giulio Rocca
The Mokes beckon to me in the early morning light. Even as I step onto the sand, I hear my grandmother’s voice: “Their proper name is Nā Mokulua, keiki,” she says. “Moku Nui and Moku Iki.” Continue reading