Issue Number
Pacifica Literary Review


Matt Muth

Managing Editor

Courtney Johnson

Paul Vega (Prose)

Sarina Sheth (Poetry)

Fiction Editors

Rachael Armstrong

Lyndsay Field

Chelsea Werner-Jatzke

Poetry Editors

Kate Henry

Willie James


Ryan Diaz

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Issue 01

Issue 04


Genevieve Hudson

Date Book

Maxim Loskutoff

Medicine Lake

Nicolete Polek


Nathan Poole

They Were Calling to One Another

Travis A. Sharp

Selected Ru(m)inations


Ace Boggess

“When Will You Be Off Paper?”

Brian Cooney


Brittany Dennison

Pocket Dial

Sarah Feldman

Orpheus, Singing

Kevin Honold

That the Soul Takes the Shape of the Body

The Girl’s Letter to the Moon

Clay Jar of Wine

Dane Karnick

To What’s Missing

Ron McFarland

Battle Hardened


Jon Garaizar


Lance Hewison


Niki Waters


Cover Art

Jon Garaizar


Lester raised the knife—a long pocket blade with a graphite handle molded to his palm as if a woman’s breast. The edge eased through clumps of hair, back to front, not so much ripping as separating, the way careful hands might pull apart fine linens fresh from the dryer. Brown tumbleweeds rolled down his cheeks, bounced from his shoulders and fell to the bathroom floor or landed in the faux-marble sink. He watched himself in the mirror as he cut. At first, he resembled a pretty-boy rock’n’roller in some second-rate bar band. Now he just looked deranged, maybe a little diseased, the remnants of his flowing curls now a burned forest with smoldering ghosts of trees left barely standing. Later, he’d bulldoze the remains with a razor, maybe take off his perfectly shaped eyebrows, too. He needed this negative metamorphosis, the butterfly becoming a caterpillar.

“Damn it,” he grunted as the honed steel nicked his scalp. This blade was one inch longer than its brother that he’d thrown away, and the added length was enough to catch skin. A quick trickle of blood descended. He reached for toilet tissue, balled it up and pressed it to the wound, holding it there, squeezing, waiting, looking all the more ridiculous. I’m going to be ugly, he thought, although ugly was exactly what he wanted.

As if to remind himself why, he glanced down at the folded newspaper on the toilet seat. There, in neat charcoal turned to printer’s ink, was his likeness. A striking sketch, it caught his angelic good looks, his small, tight face, his princely chin, his somber eyes that, even in the
picture, seemed to hint at blue. It captured him so much better than yesterday’s photo from the surveillance camera that came out grainy and blurred and made him resemble Jesus in a gray windbreaker, but also could’ve been a picture of a scarecrow or a cardboard cutout of a two-toed sloth. The sketch was devastating in its accuracy. That sketch could put him in chains.

Continue Reading . . .


Poetry Contest Finalists


Pacifica Staff

With much great fanfare and a thousand huzzahs, Pacifica is proud to present the finalists for our Poetry Contest! Your poems knocked our socks off to such a degree that we have been going around barefoot for a week now. Thanks to everyone who submitted for sending us your amazing poems, and stay tuned for Linda’s picks for our winners!

Caitlin Scarano
Shae Savoy
John Franzen
Adam Tavel
Catherine Jean Pond
Sarah Galvin
Vanessa Gabb
Radha Marcum
Katerena Kuksenok
Kim Kent




Caitlin Johnson

I. Pfc/Army
He was
an alcoholic, even at that
young age. Spoiled, aimless,
eyes out of focus
no matter where his gaze settled.

II. PO2/Navy
Honorably discharged
but learned nothing about
discipline. Knew only
about sailors’ knots
& escaping out to sea.

III. A1C/Air Force
Bored, always moving
his hands to keep his mind
from wandering into
dark places where he might
have to face the world’s truth.

IV. Sgt/Army
This secretive, mysterious
paratrooper was not afraid
to jump, but I wonder
if he could ever
pull the cord.

V. SSgt/Army
His scope on the distance,
scouting because he can’t stop.
Every attempt I make
to draw him back into me
works momentarily, then fails.