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  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    Four foot five with dark blues eyes last seen wearing purple butterfly shirt, she used to be in my third-grade class. Ann glares at me from inky grey paper as if she knew they finally found her body last week. Ten years and a thousand miles are long buried between us, but we both know; it...
  • Hot Topics > What Matters
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    His name was Kai, one of half a dozen Hawaiian names meaning "ocean," and he sat next to me on the school bus. He had the dark skin, thick hair and heavy stature of most native islanders. In order to succeed in life, Kai would have to survive in Puna, a district with the highest rate of me...
  • Hot Topics > Bullying
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    Jason can paint a picture with all the colors his bruises have been. He can paint a yellow sunrise like the day-old smudge where Joe Zedan's knuckles burst blood vessels along his ribs. He can paint an ocean, all blue with flecks of black and purple and green, like his back where the locker ven...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    New teenagers in loose jeans with rings in their tongues Tell her she is brave for sliding one thin hand across the counter To touch the double snakes on greasy, laminated paper, For baring her left elbow to be bitten by black cobras Growing, scale by scale, tooth by tooth onto her arm, Soft wh...
  • Fiction > Realistic Fiction
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    You can meet so many people just by standing still. I was waiting for my best friend at our favorite, busy coffee shop. She was perpetually late and I, being unerringly early, was already drinking coffee and leaning against the cool brownstone wall, my thick sweater like a shield against the worl...
  • Fiction > Realistic Fiction
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    “How's Circe?” I ask, a question like a landmine, but it never goes off. “We're fine. Have you seen those uniforms? They never would have worn them like that when I was in the army.” He points to the soldiers on the news. “How were they different?” Bernie waves a hand in the a...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    My sleepy limbs recognize the warm brown door of Luce’s Coffee House. I feel them grow less heavy searching for the establishment’s finest cracking leather couch, I claim it with my cracking leather jacket as an artist stumbles up-stage to tap the squealing mic. She fiddles with it so lo...
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    Photo > Watercolors
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