I grew up knowing Aunt Oma was going to hell. Mom and Dad often talked about it in the front seat of our Thunderbird on the way home from church.
The Baptism of Oma Ray by Derick Strode
Category: Essays
An archive of all of the personal essays we’ve published at Hippocampus Magazine over the years.
Sunflowers in New Jersey by Mary Diduch
It starts with a blank, raw egg in the palm of my hand. White, cold, and smooth, except for some sand-like bumps.
Sinkhole by William Vernon
Dad’s tooth extraction bled for four days, but he continued his routines with the only apparent minor alteration of one pouching cheek…
Home Fires Burning by Anne Fox
Tonight I’ll blame the sherry for the fanciful images playing in the back of my mind—an evening, a mellow light cast from the hearth into a room textured with polished wood and soft things, a sofa lumpy with pillows, a thick, nubbled carpet, its surface worn to silkiness.
Danger By Its Stem by Elizabeth Langemak
My mother’s mother was a city girl, and no number of chickens – their heads popping off on the block as her husband relieved each body of brain – could make her otherwise. Not that she didn’t try.
How to Move in One Direction While Flying in Another by Janice Anderson
Start with an incident most people see as unfortunate but you perceive as life changing; the skewed perspective will enhance your experience. The incident should happen while on your Outer Banks vacation, the highlight of your year.
A Snip Decision by Jim Gray
In her right hand she holds a blue disposable razor. In her left hand, held taut to smooth the surface and expedite shaving, is my scrotum. My testicles are being prepped for a vasectomy.
Tell Me Something Wonderful by MT Cozzola
When my mom got the cancer, I wanted her to have the best post-death experience ever. She had this thing about being buried alive.
Distant Relatives by Dawn Zera
A short, bald man winks at me. His buckteeth bite on his lower lip. His eyes bounce up and down off my double Ds. He opens his arms wide and says, as if relieved we’ve finally reconnected, “Roseanne.”
Letters from My Mum-in-Law by Nancy J. Brandwein
Peeking out of the glossy catalogs and bills, the blue and red airmail border is like a cheery flag unfurling in the breeze announcing, “Land ahead.”
