by Kim Steutermann Rogers
The sun sets over an endless sea, flashing a mysterious green, while a purple squall stomps on the horizon. I stand in the middle of a sandy island the size of a graveyard, and just as flat. This is exactly what I want after the last ten months—time alone on a deserted island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. It’s what I hope will right my world that’s canted 27 degrees to the left, one degree for each year of marriage. Is what I hope will rid me of the ghost of a perfect husband, a perfect marriage, a perfect life. Continue reading
Hawaii Pacific Review 