Leaving                      by Cathy Song Wahiawa is still a red dirt town where the sticky smell of pineapples being lopped off in the low lying fields rises to mix with the minty leaves of eucalyptus in the bordering gulch. We lived there near the edge where the orchids grew huge as lanterns overnight and the…

Precious                     by Darrell H.Y. Lum            On Mama's bureau in a gold frame, almost hidden by the baby and graduation pictures is the yellowing picture of Goong-goong when he was young. Sometimes I bend all the other pictures over to take a good look at you, Goong-goong, behind that glass, standing before your blackboard of…

Communion                      By Patsy S. Saiki            It was quiet, deathly quiet, and that was strange, for Morio Tamura's life had always been full of sounds. There had been the crickets and cicadas on the Tamura farm in Japan, and the rustle of canefields and harsh commands of foremen on the sugar plantation on Hawaii….

The Shrine                     by Jody Manabe                                                             I speak of him, father, because he is                                                             There with his hands in his pockets, in the end                                                             Of the garden listening to the turning                                                             Wheel that is not there, but it is the world,                                                             Father, that I do not understand.                                                                                                                                   – W.S. Merwin                                                                                                                                    “On the Subject of Poetry”…