by Michael Brasier
Her toys—every little figurine and stuffed animal I bought—rest in a cardboard box collecting dust, not touched since her last visit three months ago. While watching The Twilight Zone, once her and her mother’s evening tradition, I find five small socks—cheetah patterned, sweat-hardened sock calluses—under the recliner. She hated the way socks felt and would sneak off without them. Continue reading
Hawaii Pacific Review 