We’re in the forest looking for acorn shells, because they make good bathtubs for the fairies. I have only one daughter, and she thinks a pinecone would be a good hiding place – fairies like to play hide-and-seek.
Universe by Linda Dunlavy
Category: Essays
An archive of all of the personal essays we’ve published at Hippocampus Magazine over the years.
Take Arms by Matt W Miller
I know as well as anyone the ridiculous, bread and circuses fascination America has with sports but sometimes I just get sucked into its narrative, just like people do with afternoon soaps, teenage vampires, or reality “talent” shows.
Object Lessons by Carol Smith
I wake up sweating and lie there as the adrenaline ebbs, running through what I would take, if I had to leave. The mental cataloging starts: what I have lost already; what I have yet to lose; an inventory of what matters.
The Sound of Ice by Tyler Lacoma
The first sound is the foot sound, the break sound, the cracking crunch that hikers know… It is a stubborn, short sound, underneath your boots. Ka-krack, krunch, it says. It says little else.
Until We Have Loved by Jeanine Pfeiffer
The bat is so itty-bitty-teeny-tiny her body embraces only half my thumb, to which she clings during our first moments. Clings to with eyes shut: either because she naturally re-immersed herself in torpor, or from exhaustion.
Lessons from My Sire by Cynthia Jalynski
I never knew what to say when people asked me what my father did for a living. Sometimes I joked, “He’s involved with high-risk investments.” — “Stocks? Bonds?” — “More like ponies and dice.”
Unwrapped by Dina Honour
He held it up and out, away from his body and along his arm. He used it to point at us sitting there in front of him. Over the curved edge, he gathered us in his sights.
Silence, Stillness by Lisa Nikolidakis
I never say abuse. Instead, I slide into cliché. It was no picnic, I say. Had a rough childhood, but the texture means nothing to anyone else.
Self-Portrait by Hayli Cox
Wet paint wrinkles up thin pages like the skin of an aging woman. A quick stroke of coral forms a sagging smile.
Points of Departure by Corey Ginsberg
The rat floated toward me. His small legs pushed him through the water toward where I lay meditating next to my backyard pool.
