Category: Essays

An archive of all of the personal essays we’ve published at Hippocampus Magazine over the years.

When the oncology nurse calls, I’m eating a Pick Two at the Panera in Westmoreland Mall.

I piloted a $34 million aircraft, and there was no place onboard where I could pee.

Church is hell. But I am excellent at it.

Quite suddenly, there is a solid object where—moments before—there had been nothing. For a second I am too surprised to shout…

I like to observe graffiti, see the stalls become galleries, find out what people are yelling into the universe.

Our blood tells both a singular narrative that is factual, centered around a product, but also holds deeply personal truths.

Mr. Poteat was a fool, and Anne-Elizabeth Tilley and I knew it, even if our classmates didn’t.

My mother and I haven’t talked about those years in years: the dark years when we slept on her pillowed mattress with the bedroom door locked….

The medium is the visible section of frothy milk resting atop the overflow, the mode is the barista’s deliberate wrist twisting…..

They remind me: For over a hundred years we have been building for this country.

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