by Bex Hainsworth
For Mercie Lack and Barbara Wagstaff
Summer, 1939, and the past is pressing itself
against windowpanes like the children
in your classes when the planes fly overhead.
Gas masks clunk in cardboard, there is
a parade of plague doctors in the playground.
Time doesn’t feel linear: it folds like an accordion,
like the earth beneath a plough.
Filed under Poetry
by Keira Deer
his hands shake as he shows me his photographs. oil in water, he says.
______several quarts per day. micro-volleys, climbing from underwater fuel tanks,
and laying like dancing ribbon, like ghosts arriving to their new lives.
______secrets spring from these ocean bodies, reported Continue reading
Filed under Poetry, Young Writers Edition
by Mikayla Maeshiro
Aches linger in my always-not-young-not-old
Body as time tick tick ticks on the blaring
Clock, waiting for every feeling to numb
Down so I can return to the
Earth, a sense of innocence and a
Feeling of satisfaction that can
Grow from the roots of my what-ifs,
Have-tos, and false needs. Continue reading
Filed under Poetry, Young Writers Edition
by Haley King
The mirror reflects your gray
eyes and freckled bridge. I can smell the beer on your breath
from your last drink. The one that went to your organs Continue reading
Filed under Poetry, Young Writers Edition
by Marcyn Campbell-Ogbunezu
Growing over my dilapidated ruin, once there was only disrepair as far as the eye could see
A lost cause, doors that wouldn’t open, windows that wouldn’t shut
I was a house that was a ghost of a home, within just remnants of what had been
An iron tea kettle rusted over a brilliant ochre Continue reading
Filed under Poetry, Young Writers Edition
Hawaii Pacific Review 