“Don’t open that box,” Mom warns me, when I carry it into her bedroom. “It will make you cry.” But I ignore her.
Full House by Kathryn Bold
Category: Essays
An archive of all of the personal essays we’ve published at Hippocampus Magazine over the years.
The Pond by Damien Galeone
We dug into the ground, uprooting the shrubs and tossing them aside. We dug out stones and roots, de-housed spiders the size of plump ravioli and worms like fleshy shoelaces. Three feet into the ground we found an arrowhead…
Bringing Home the Gumby by Nancy Weber
He was six feet tall, unyielding yet benevolent (plush stuffed with foam pellets), the clean eternal green of AstroTurf, a gorgeous anomaly at a depressing little tag sale
This Stranger, My Father by Lorie Adair
He should have been brushing dirt from his mouth or cobwebs from his eyes that afternoon, not sipping coffee in a white T-shirt and characteristic jeans.
Lambs on the Bubble by Bronze Johnson
Some went back to bartending. Some went to the pawnshop to hawk whatever knee-jerk purchases were intended to signify status. I went back to the hotel to work as a doorman and regain my benefits.
Con Te Partiro by Jenni Wilson
The song played in a continuous loop, providing not only the music for all three of us, but also a swirling psychedelic picture on the computer screen for Scott and Mike to watch until I had dinner on the table.
Across the Universe: The Solace of Songs by Jon Magidsohn
The narrative of my own musical lineage … still grows in intricate, intertwining branches and swelling crescendos in bold, arpeggiated chords toward what I hope will someday be a magnificent finale.
The Giants’ Magical Season by Arsheeya Mashaw
On a cold, dull Sunday in January I began studying charts, getting to get to know my patients before making rounds as part of my geriatrics fellowship in inpatient internal medicine.
The Last Beer Can Castle by Amy Derby
I was the kind of nine year old who proudly invited my best friend over to Dad’s place without taking into consideration that most kids my age did not have fathers like mine.
Birayshul by Dawn S. Davies
My three children, whom I birthed, look nothing like me, thank goodness. I am a six footer, WASP-y, with a long face, a crooked nose, and histrionic hair…
