by Gene Twaronite
I stare at the photograph
of a bare-chested 18-year-old
trying to look brutish,
crouching as if
ready to pounce,
projecting his masculinity
lest the image fade. Continue reading
Tag Archives: Poetry
Remnants
Filed under Poetry
If I Were to Taste You Again
by Tara A. Elliott
It would be all almonds, the sweet, cocooned belly
of the melon, berries rupturing black against my tongue. Continue reading
Filed under Poetry
Young Marriage
by Andrew Payton
In our first apartment, above the small
plaza where schoolchildren rehearse
their patriotism, and a fruit seller scatters
pigeons with her knife’s wooden butt Continue reading
Filed under Poetry
The Hawaiian Alphabet
by Colleen Kam Siu
Hapa is a Hawaiian word
that means part,
but more recently, half.
In 1870, Hapa
meant part-Hawaiian
and part-Chinese laborer;
the latter imported
for their bitter strength, eager
to escape broken promises
in Kwangtung,
not yet knowing
that’s the material
that makes a man
who calls himself Master.
Filed under Poetry
A Heart (In)Action
by Kalehua Kim
Today someone sings about a broken heart.
Tomorrow I could sing about a broken heart.
The song on the radio can’t tear me like tissue
the way your grunts and groans shred my heart. Continue reading
Filed under Poetry
Hawaii Pacific Review 