Category: Print Archives
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Two Poems by Ricky Garni
The Killer Truck It was after midnightwhen I saw the food truckpass by. At first I thoughtit was a bus. And thenI thought, No, it is a foodtruck. But where is it goingafter midnight? It has nowhereto go, but is going somewhere. Sometimes I wonder if the foodtruck saw me and wonderedwhere I was going,…
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Fiction: Molly Prentiss’ “My Someone’s Ears”
The first things I loved about My Someone were his ears. They were smaller than average, and shaped like seashells, curved in on themselves and then hollow. They seemed to ask to be whispered into. Or I wanted to hold them up to my own ears to hear the ocean. Our first kiss was not…
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Fiction: Amy Glasenapp’s “I Don’t Want to Bury Dreams Yet”
Tick tock, you say. My coat is nowhere to be found, and of course, my keys are in the coat. I disappear and come back empty-handed. You shake your head. On the way out you talk about real things: bills, Thanksgiving, weatherproofing the apartment. Things I don’t want to think about just now with the…
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“Dr. Mario or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Ascension of Video Games into a Multi-Billion Dollar Industry That Will Consume Us All,” an essay by Salvatore Pane
I I convinced my parents to buy me a subscription to Electronic Gaming Monthly in 1997. I was thirteen years old and had just saved up to buy the original PlayStation, a console so futuristic with its built-in CD player that I moved my yellowed Super Nintendo and collection of Japanese role-playing games to my grandmother’s basement…
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“It Seemed to Make Sense with How I View the World”: An Interview with Dash Shaw by Jason Teal
*Ed.’s Note: Click images to view larger sizes. I first witnessed Dash Shaw’s comics on the Fantagraphics tumblr, a tumblr which, if you follow HFR there, you know I subject to many reblogs. It was a few panels featuring President Obama, quickly followed by a succession of posts promoting New School (Fantagraphics, 2013), his latest…
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“Strange Bravery I Pay the Gods For,” a poem by Sarah Bartlett
We close our eyesso we don’t have to seeeach other. I drive my carthis way and die three timesa week. I keep coming back—life is relentless in its lesson.I drive my car past your housewith my eyes closed and arrive inAtlantic City. I play the penny slotsand stare at Cleopatra.I drop coins in her asp’smouth…
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Fiction: “Hunting,” by Meg Pokrass
The doctor told Dad he had a sub-zero temperature. He was almost always home now. My little sister laughed. Tarla laughed at most of what Dad said—but not at what he did. “That is not possible,” I said to Dad. His doctor’s appointments were twice a week. “Well, the doctor slapped my bottom and that…
Heavy Feather Review 