by J. T. Townley
Most of us can barely lift the axes, much less fling them at the target. Not only do we miss the bullseye, most of our throws clatter to the floor. Any blades that sink into the wood, even well outside those concentric circles, send us into conniptions of artificial joy and feigned delight.
Whose bright idea was this? Continue reading
Filed under Fiction
by Jessie Raymundo
This morning is shaded
with salt water. From the garden, Continue reading
Filed under Poetry
by Ujjvala Bagal Rahn
In his den, Marty forgets to put things away.
Wrappings and boxes fall unnoticed to the floor,
Amazon purchases rest on his desk,
as he turns to the computer screen.
Mal Nińo never has to put anything away
because his hands are always empty, Continue reading
by Megan O’Laughlin
One of these days, I will find a dead body on this beach. It’s written in the stars, or at least in so many true crime stories: woman walking dog finds dead body on neighborhood beach.
Every morning I walk the new puppy to our small neighborhood shore where he sniffs seaweed while I hunt for sea-glass. I walk because I’m tired and my depletion comes from something that has a lot of terms: secondary trauma, compassion fatigue, vicarious trauma, all terms for various forms of caregiver exhaustion, definitions for intense weariness. I used to believe such symptoms indicate how I’ve given too much, but perhaps it means that the needs outweigh any possible gifts. Continue reading
Filed under Nonfiction
by Caroliena Cabada
At dinner, the napkin ring
cinches the cloth into a fan. Continue reading
Hawaii Pacific Review 