Hawai‘i Literature & Art
— Since 1978 —
VOICE By: Sasha Farmer Being gifted with the ability to speak, But being told to shut up left me weak. Day in and day out being seen but not heard, Left feelings of joy all blurred. Screaming and yelling in my head is all I could do, Destructive behaviors is all I knew. Wanting…
He spends all his time indoors. He works in an air-conditioned office, in a room well-insulated from the city outside. It’s a room that smells like carpet, Lysol, and coffee. When I take him his lunch, I lean down to kiss him, and he smells of soap and laundry detergent. He flinches from me, crinkles…
When my dentist friend meets me for after-work drinks I worry he first notices my teeth Still stained from too much coffee He’s thinking, oh, she needs to take care of that. Her smile would be so much brighter. Or something like the first few dates with a psychologist I often wondered if I…
Is it too late in life to write about my wedding in the summer of 65? I felt my moʻopuna needed to know. I’m not sure why it took me so long to write this but here goes. It’s an oppressively hot summer, in Honolulu, the year is 1965. I’m Faye Sing and I’m…
Summer fireworks at home alone. Independence Day from people. I set fire to the BBQ grill And let butter soaked peaches heat up With melted chocolate on the flesh with chopped walnuts. The wind carries the ashes away outdoors. I bring my dessert indoors. My chores include washing dishes, sweeping up, and mopping the floors….
We haunt yesterday’s bonfires Cozy after days of swimming And miles of nature walks Learned every plant and tree We’d seen for a million years But ignored as passing strangers Everyone knew every camp song Because they’re in our DNA Our parents sang them As did their parents before them Cavemen probably grunted How to…
I recognize the boy climbing up the bank on the other side. Turning, he calls to me, over the rush of the river, points to where a waterfall waits, high, and deadly. He gestures not to worry, but the current is fierce here, and I’m no longer the swimmer I was in my childhood. We’re…
Snow Monkey: The Present The night is deep and dark, and I am the only visitor at the outdoor onsen on the hotel’s roof top. Fortunately, there is no wind, and my body still retains the heat from my previous cleansing. Nevertheless, a tiny towel is the only thing to guard against the winter’s chill,…
First only green at the edges and on the ground. Then the heat arriving (like an unclocked summer) greens rise and invoke daffodils, crocuses quickly bloom and quickly die from the bipolar swing of the planet’s mood back to frost. Cruelty in April makes flora think showing up will be safe, so they show up…
Fog settling on Hawaiian birds, sharp and trilling between ʻokina, repeating and echoing over searching groans of wild bulls, over boars tearing up matrixes of dense forest roots with spear-edged tusks, while swollen mango, breadfruit, avocado, and jackfruit trees smack their sappy, sticky, ripping and rotting fruit into the turning soil. A commotion, a language…