No fingers or toes or pupils or teeth or hair. Just a heartbeat. Supposedly.
Pulp by Sarah Morris
Category: Essays
An archive of all of the personal essays we’ve published at Hippocampus Magazine over the years.
Some Sort of Union by Nina Boutsikaris
When she woke in the air force paramedic’s bed, a weak, warm light was spilling through the narrow window that spanned the length of the bedroom.
Winter and Other Seasons by Blake Fugler
“Why do you only cry when you’re sleeping?” I ask her. Her eyes are purple and bruised from lack of rest.
Red Clay Castles by Jennifer Watkins
Six o’clock on a Friday, and blue skies give way to orange. On hot bricks, Mama sits smoking, flicking red-tipped butts into bushes.
Economics of Loss by Shamae Budd
In college, I owned a frog—an Indonesian White’s treefrog: plump and squishy, green skin pulled taut over delicate, angular leg bones and the tiny vertebrae of the spine.
The After Party by Martha Polk
Mom’s boyfriend collapsed at the party. Eyes closed, head slumped against his shoulder; his face was sallow, but that’s not what shocked me.
Gradually, Then Suddenly by Tim Hillegonds
I met Erin on a Metra train heading from the suburbs of Chicago to the city, four years after I left the comfortable structure of a Minnesota rehab.
Driving with Mom by Brittany Means
Mom drives with one hand on the wheel and the other holding her ribs. She says, “Brittany, don’t ever let a f*cking man tell you what to do.”
Thin by Sabrina Lee
I comment to [my husband] how strange it is to me that our 14-year-old son, who eats almost anything and usually a lot of it, will not eat cereal.
Among Other Things, Fish by Christie Jenkins
Even here, a block back from the beach, the brisk breeze blowing in from the Pacific fills the air with the scent of seaweed and salt.
