He kneads my belly like he does every night. He thinks you’re his mama, you tell me, your face a pixelated screen from sixteen hours away.
Sometimes We Forget by Nicola Sebastian
Category: Essays
An archive of all of the personal essays we’ve published at Hippocampus Magazine over the years.
The Head on the Commuter Line by Max King Cap
I grew up on trains. I attended college by train. I went to work by train. There was a station less than two blocks from my firehouse…
Food Is Home. Home is Food. by Smitha Murthy
I spoon some batter for the ambode into my hands. Mom slaps my wrist, but I can’t resist as I watch her press the batter between her hands…
Tan Lines by Michael Todd
Skin has always come first, a sheath concealing that which is honest, sometimes dangerous.
I Thought I Knew Them by Nancy Barnes
I am opening the last boxes of my parents’ personal papers, boxes I’ve carted with me on many moves.
He Looked Small by Mallory Olivia Taylor
He looked small in his hospital bed. No smaller than usual, but still, the nurses must have considered him a small man.
The Capacity of a Human by Linda Anne Silver
…the need comes after our fifty-year-old daughter dies on a midsummer’s morning and we are numb: wanting to flee the sadness, not knowing how to move forward.
The Kill Switch by Michelle Willms
It surprised me to see Michael standing beside me one day, his unfinished project in hand.
Why I’ve Never Read The Secret Garden by Joyce Tomlinson
On Christmas Eve 1964, a month after he’d eloped, my father and his young bride Donna picked me up for a family party…
What You Do in a Coup by Kelly Hevel
It’s 10:30 p.m. on a Friday and Jenny and Chloe, who rarely message me, are both texting to ask if I know what the hell is going on.
