Lines from Number 53/54: 1. spirits of my ancestors 2. he was into everything 3. but they would be safe 4. there were many beauties among them 5. we are not thieves 6. she wanted to turn back to help

Lines from Issue 55/56: 1. the answer was always 2. but you know what? 3. the father said nothing 4. I know where it's from 5. the next day as our family was settling down for dinner 6. I know I did 7. she didn't say anything 8. oh, I get plenny things to do…

Here's M. Suzuki's “Childhood” Up in the attic I cringe When I accidentally kick An old Roach Motel And it sounds like someone just shook A half-full box of Raisinets. In the corner, The perforated surface Of the air hockey table Is coated with a layer of dust Like the Barbie “Airliner” Next to it…

Here's Meredith Carson's “Shipwrecks” The sea floor is spread surreal when ships sink, pressing the floor with the weight of their hulls and their objects which the sea cannot understand and so covers with things it knows — barnacles, seaweeds, crusts of bryozoa, ooze and sand. Subterfuge. Marvellous for hiding, inventive, whisper-soft, tentacular, and deeper-darker….

From BAMBOO RIDGE Issue Number 44, Fall 1989, Last Quarter: Robin Lim's “Something of Ours”: For a long time after — after you, years maybe, I had a small white clock with a brick colored smudge on the top, to one side. Just a thing with a face. How many hours were counted before and…

From BAMBOO RIDGE Issue Number 45/46: Last Days Here, by Eric Chock: Here's Eric Chock's “Confession”: I thought we were poor, our family. There were so many things I couldn't have, like the lacquered bamboo fishing pole twelve feet long that could hold the bait out far enough to where the big ones lived, deeper…

“Ruby Shoes on Kuhiō” by Patricia Boyd-Rivera You can hear it through your windows, rising from the street below. A murmur, muted by the busy-ness of mechanical things. As the sun sets, it crescendos from a rumble to a roar. Its rhythm drives the night people from their hiding places into the streets. The streets…

From “A Haole Stops in Kaimuki”                                by Jim Harstad           Mr. Perreira is the stocky, smiling, Portuguese man who runs the Bank of Hawaii parking lot in Kaimuki Mondays, Tuesdays, and Wednesdays. He explains that he lets somebody else run the lot Thursdays and Fridays because he does not want to be a millionaire.           We…

From “The Night of the Kepalo”                                By Michael R. Sakamoto . . .            Wes pushed his way through the overhanging bush, flipped the hood latch and pulled at the trunk's hood. The hood opened and he fumbled for the retaining bar and finally got it inserted in the hole which held the hood…