Dadio’s got a hobby. He paints a face on a coconut shell, sinks a furniture tack into the shell’s crown, and ties dental floss to the tack. Then he dangles the face off the jacaranda out back. There must be fifty faces already hanging there. Some of the faces have Xed out eyes. Others look like demons. A few remind me of stooges. Who are these people? I know he hates Ross the neighbor. He also hates that Marine down the street with the RV. Sometimes he even hates Mom. I spot one on a lower branch with slits for eyes and a big mouth. Who’s that? I ask, pointing. Dadio stares at me and smiles.
About the author
Kirby Wright was born and raised in Honolulu, Hawaii. His first book of poetry, Before the City (Lemon Shark Press, 2003) won the San…
Read the full bioIssue 14 · February 2012
Table of contents
- From the editors
- Poetry
- Postcard Prose
- The Enemy Tree by Kirby Wright
- Escape on the Canal by Addie Zierman
- Buttons by Jennifer Faylor
- Travel Notes
More from The Journal
- Postcard Prose
By Kelly Hill
Trying to wrap my mind around living on a tropical island for thirteen years and never once seeing the ocean, I stumbled through my Indonesian vocabulary to say, It’s good. It’s big.
- Travel Notes
By Sandra Larson
A dinosaur dangles over my grandson at the Field Museum near a pink thumb that pops into the prom picture of my granddaughter dressed in strapless red leaving her house in Medina …
- Travel Notes
By Megan Hallinan
The bill in question is actually a 2,000 West African franc note, and it’s the equivalent of about four U.S. dollars. A helpful sum, really, but as I clutch the weathered crinkle in my sweaty palm, its value feels as dirty as the grime that is undoubtedly being transferred to my fingers.
- Poetry
to Egg and Berry brewery, to the pack / of Czechy words I made but didn’t work / in this pink town. I’d readily go back / to your best spots, the unfired gun, that perk //
- Poetry
By Jason Warren
And if the neap tides of my beauty / sadden him, I cannot help it: / I hang high, the waxy night light …
- Poetry
By Anastasia Vassos
Three thousand ancestors ask how I straddle / the sea, a foot on either shore. //
Read more Poetry or Postcard Prose