An archive of all of the personal essays we’ve published at Hippocampus Magazine over the years.
The train runs once per day in each direction. It carries mail, packages, cargo, and passengers, who have the option of sleeper class, sleeper class with air conditioning, and— cheapest of all—economy class, which was what I took in 1973…
On my Christmas tree hangs a key chain masquerading as an ornament. It is a small red, white, and blue beaded dog. The colors aren’t Christmasy…
We’d been visiting our son in Arkansas and were now on Highway 69 near Atoka, Oklahoma, heading south. That’s when I noticed the inconspicuous sign.
I decided to take a city bus, something I rarely did…. most of the places I needed to go to I could walk, and besides, I had a car.
I run a school in the desert. The United Arab Emirates hired me, an English-speaking, pseudo-Catholic from a foreign country, and put me in charge of their children.
The first time Richie and I showed up to play at the Central Park basketball courts by 85th street, we heard a collective groan from the regulars.
In those days, he was always grousing about something. Misplaced glasses, cold coffee, empty sugar bowl. Then after a ten-second spiel, his annoyance would trail off like smoke
“In a healthy heart…” My cardiologist’s words linger in my mind. I listen carefully as she sketches an image of a heart on the back of her notepad. It looks something like a big beetle from where I lay on the hospital bed…
I thought I heard howling the other night. It startled me from a dream, and I raised my head from the indentation in my pillow to listen again —
I’ve started to write this letter at least 20 times in as many years. Just imagine me sitting alone in my office surrounded by crumpled pieces of paper.
