Category: The Last Word

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

Essay: “Dinner with Trump and the Art of (Im)potent Rage” by Janet Mercel

My niece brought her boyfriend back east last summer to meet all of us. He was sweet and placid and quiet enough that I wasn’t sure he was paying attention until he’d had enough cocktails to loosen his lips. Later in the evening he told me how intimidated he’d been to be presented to the…
Fiction: “My Father’s Great Recession” by Alex Kudera

Fierce rains pour from black clouds, and when at last we meet in the parking lot, I see an obese and aged semblance of Dad. He wears a blonde mustache, but his receding topsoil is corn-silk white. Beige slacks and a light blue sweater do little to mask his immense roundness. Three hundred pounds or…
Three Poems by Anne Champion

How Capitalism Breathes Through a gas mask/ in a uniform/ hurling tear gas/ with a chokehold/ elbow cocked like a gun/ deep inhale/ holding its breath/ ducking for cover during a mass shooting/ the aroma of factory chimneys smells like money/ through a gas mask/ does blood smell like power/ drop the noose/ drop the…
“Dear Dana Loesch,” an interactive poem by Rachael Shay Button

Dear Dana Loesch, Todaywhile you tweet,Parklandstudentsreturn:retrieve backpackscell phones,windbreakers,water bottles,chapstick,math books.Returnto classroomswhere they satsilentin supply closetseyes adjustingto darkears tunedto the soundof breathof shots. Dear Dana Loesch, You kept your kids away from public school homeschooled opposed testing standards wroteMamalougesabout raising your babies unrushed. Your children got to start slow lessons on the living room rug lunch…
Fiction: “Abortion Clinic, 2021” by Beth Fiset

We wait in rows along the walls until one of our names is called and we reshuffle. We wait seated in chair clusters. We wait huddled over one another to sleep for hours on end because we can’t help ourselves, though, we want to be awake when they call so we are not skipped over…
Essay: “The Mourning After” by Diane Payne

Hungover with sadness, shame, booze, and fatigue, I walked with the dogs to the park. This time of year, when it’s cold and the ground is wet, no one is at the park. But there he was: the man with the bike charging his phone at the picnic table pavilion. After exchanging morning greetings, I…
Poetry: “Wolves” by Luke Newell

After Allen Ginsberg The worst minds of our fathers’ generation laugh maniacally as they fuck us to within an inch of our lives,And tell us how it’s our fault because we’re so entitled becauseWe want to buy a house, because we drink and smoke andWatch videos of cats on YouTube but they don’t realise that…
“When Angela Asks Me a Question,” a poem by Antonio Lopez

—for my hermanita when she loses hope in school You’re armed with a non-toxic shadethat bleeds through Xeroxed sheets—the wicked clonesof an English textbook. Office Depot-issued holsterof highlight markers take aimat the 12 PT tremor. “Hey Tony, sorry to bother you.But what is this asking?” Thirty dollar uñas gloss over the district’s wear-and-tear,…
“AR-15,” a poem by Gabriel Welsch

A reason to burn the newspapers.Arrive to work in tears from hearing the Ardent words of parents on the radio immolating anyArguments about the right time, the right Areas to debate. Yearn for when the world ignitesArdor. Every few minutes Arch your back, deny the screen, roll yourArms to get the blood flowing properly. Watching…