by Jay Udall
My daughter is drawn to heights
that make me shake with terror.
When she was small, Ferris wheels
became my personal hell, Continue reading
Tag Archives: Poetry
The Heights
Filed under Poetry
A Virgin Daiquiri at the Hemingway Look-Alike Contest
by Gary Leising
The bartender snorted at the bearded man’s order,
then mixed a drink with sans rum, sans liqueur,
despite historical reservations. This evening,
his older colleague told him, stacking plates,
is about getting close, being near the real thing. Continue reading
Filed under Poetry
Language
by Aref Moalemi
Between the deaf and the mute
silence speaks in sign language—
maybe the last living tongue
left
if they don’t cut off their hands. Continue reading
Filed under Poetry
Endings
by J. Alan Nelson
The hospice room smells like antiseptic
and the ghost of cigarettes she swore she quit in ’89.
Everyone pretends this is normal,
the way we pretend the body isn’t a house
slowly evicting itself,
one lamp at a time. Continue reading
Filed under Poetry
Hawaii Pacific Review 