Category: The Last Word

Writers getting the last word. HFR is invested in elevating art by marginalized groups with this feature.

“My Day with the Donald,” a modern American tall tale by Jeff Cuffee

The dead visit me in dreams, and sometimes speak with me. People have said it’s because of my heritage, that I’m African American and Native American, and that has something to do with it. I’m not so sure. In fact, I believe that most of us dream of the dearly and not-so dearly departed and…
Three Poems by Jim Daniels

Suspension Quiet cinder of shame, until a young boy finds the willto hit back. Except. Suspended from school, that’s what.They don’t care who or how. Accept. He wants a Tums to help him sleep—he likes its soft soundtaste. The photo of courage has no negative, cannot bereproduced like a trick from an old comic book.…
Poetry: “Colombo” by Senie Priti

Morning. I eat rice and curry, so hot it brings tears to my eyes. This is Sri Lanka, I think. I take a tuktuk to the central station. Bustling. Colours and sounds and smells I don’t recognise. The light thick and smoky. And hot. So fucking hot. Everyone’s about the hustle. Cues in the street…
“Rock Creek: A Pastoral,” flash fiction by Jarrod Campbell

Living two miles from the epicenter of a useless and oppressive government but still well within what could potentially be ground zero can wear anybody down, but only if they let it happen. For fifteen years I’ve seen the power ebb and flow from weak blue tides to the present deadly red tide and miraculously…
Two Poems by Rusty Barnes

Date Night at Fuddruckers, Saugus MAYear of Our Lord, 2018 we have no imagination,my wife and I,so we end up here, nestled alongside Route 1,causeway to the NorthShore. on the menuthe biggest effing burgerthey have a pound of meat dressedout in cheese,with a great stack of onion. my wife in all things (almost)moderates herself with…
Poetry: “egg” by Tameca L Coleman

1 the desert demandsa new view when waiting is a death pop out the eyeturn the retinainside out turn out lungsmake the heart speak reverse the gut softenbone let followflesh innards wrapped blood and bone paste a shell in bright sun the exteriorblinds peck away the interior the protective eye has becomea…
Lyric Essay: “When a man says less is more, it’s hard not to hear him (or, on figure painting)” by Sophie Paquette

He teaches us to apply paint in shapes. To recognize shadow and bend before limb. Our subject sprawls on the couch, arms hung along the cushion’s back. I paint the knee sticking out too far and the kimono slides down her leg, pulls her thigh into the light. I like this: leg hiked up like…
“The Dollhouse,” a short story by Meiko Ko

Once more, the man said he was lost. I told him no, he wasn’t, from where I sat I could see him clearly, cross-legged on a braided rug. I said, “You are free. You can leave anytime you want.” He would not believe me. He said I was only a child. Don’t be too sure,…
“Free Car,” fiction by Alex Kudera

After the click, I wonder which I like least, folks who phone too early in the morning or those who call late at night. Then I return to the other room, a small L-shaped kitchen/living room area, pour myself a cup of ambivalence, and lie low on the futon couch with my calves resting on…