by Kalani Padilla
The cabbages will survive at 24 degrees fahrenheit
whether they tolerate or desire the frost
is their secret.
Tag Archives: Poetry
Grief Island
by Amy Fleury
Into the circle of chairs at the coffee shop
or church basement the newly bereft,
bedraggled and numb, are hauled ashore
by those long ago wrecked, those who know
the ropes, handing out Styrofoam cups
to be bitten and clutched. The coffee
isn’t bad for such a sad, uncharted place.
Salt water inundates us, so we pass around
the tissue box like a conch shell. All loss
is ours, we who are stranded together,
each with our own stormy story to share.
What unlikely castaways we make—professor,
pipefitter, nurse, veteran, and even undertaker.
Filed under Poetry
Dad Explains Forgiveness on Our Drive Home
by Megan Munger
Lynnie, all you learn
on our visits are Grandpa’s horses
like saltlicks, have soft manes.
Grandma’s office, a typewriter,
she lets you play. Both of them
smile and hug gentle,
Filed under Poetry
Cleave
by Amy Fleury
Back in the bed of our gone son’s begetting
we drift on the raft of our grief. You join
our fingers together, your wedding band
glinting in the rivering dark. My tears salt
your shoulder. Your whiskers catch my hair.
We have only endured a week of ever-after. Continue reading
I Should Write a Poem About Mrs. C. From “Happy Days”
by Jennifer Randall Hotz
Mrs. C. will tell you she doesn’t mind
that the children never ask her what
she thinks about anything important
or that her husband, when she cooks
him breakfast, rushes out the door,
claims he only has time for coffee.
How often does she sigh looking out
the kitchen window, hoping for
something she can’t quite put her finger on?
When The Fonz shows up,
striding into every scene
in a leather jacket
sleek as a seal’s head,
she kisses him on the cheek,
calls him by his real name:
Arthur. He takes her hand in his,
looks deeply into her eyes,
sees what’s really there:
her whole life on endless repeat,
standing at the stove in dress, pearls,
apron, lips pursed as she scrapes
the skillet with short, sharp strokes,
trying to make something out of the raw
ingredients she has at hand.
Jennifer Randall Hotz’s work has appeared in Burningword Literary Journal, Naugatuck River Review, Connecticut River Review, Literary Mama, and SLANT, among other publications. She won 1st place in poetry for the Virginia Writers Club 2023 Golden Nib Awards and was nominated for a 2024 Pushcart Prize. Find her at: www.jenniferrandallhotz.com.
Filed under Uncategorized
Hawaii Pacific Review 