Tag: HFR Archives

Poetry by Jim Daniels: “Boo Boo”

Someone’s feelings were hurt. BadBoo Boo. Oops, Boo Boo. Some-one’s feelings. O I felt your feelings,wet smooshy feelings.Big Bang Theory of Hurtfeelings. Dealingswith feelings. Gel and a wetcomb. Band-aids and Cand-aids. Bloody sweet feelings.The Long and Shortof feelings. Errors-in-the-scorebook hurtfeelings. Wheeler-dealer feelings. O.Just O of hurt feelings.I am so O for yourhurt feelings. Can I…
“Ruidoso, Carrizozo, Ruidoso”: Short Fiction by Adrian Van Young

Billy Sue Dolan was from Ruidoso, one town in a hundred New Mexico towns. Except Ruidoso was in Lincoln County, the most violent part of that desolate state, where William McCarty or William H. Bonney or Billy the Kid, he would come to be known for the twenty-one men he’d reportedly slain, had seen ideal…
Knar Gavin: Two Poems

My Cooter, Your Us upon being expelledfrom the uterus& them brigade my neighbor cuts offall our hair and rollstowel around skull screams our uteruses have been pluckedout, outs me out thoughshe probablydoesn’t meanours—hers or mine—but thePlatonic Table Uterus, thatuterus, and i suppose i’m supposed tojust trust—to believe it’s there,and sometimes she she is uterustlingin the…
Dear Brother Excerpts: A.M. O’Malley Poetry

Dear Brother Three babies came between us. They were all sucked away or withered on the vine. The summer you were born I had buds forming on my branches. I had touched tongues for extended periods of time with boys who thought I was fifteen or sixteen, boys with skateboards, boys with ripped collars, boys…
“What Has Become of Freedom?”: A Poem by Ace Boggess

—Bob Hicok, “To Find the New World” The trouble with freedom is being freenot to think about freedom or desire escapeto freedom. Easy spending too many hourswatching the same news on televisionwith nothing new about it to make it newsexcept in name. The machine god pulls its levers &an airplane disappears—sleight of a clockwork handas…
Fiction: “What Is Left” by Jen Michalski

You’re making good time. Keep this up, the splits will be amazing. There’s one guy ahead, a kid, really, who won’t even feel this tomorrow, the pain of achievement, his legs like spokes on a bicycle wheel, cycling, cycling, all legs and concave torso, a kid who hasn’t grown into form, into ache. You are…
Claire Polders: “Amsterdam,” a hybrid fiction

Aerial shot. The sun rises over a city of semicircles. Traffic noises are punctuated by shrieking gulls. The camera pans down, getting closer and closer to the earth until figures emerge on a street split in half by a misted canal. I – EconomyNothing is permanent except for the creation of junk. Bicycles. Umbrellas. Handbags…
“Poem” by Ryan Mills

Or is it all but that rock(s)grey courtyard naked trees. & It is all but that this isFall & much Septemberalive & of. Throw pebbles at the sky;“ ing “ “ “ se words;they say wind or wind chimes. Months pass by mistressedmattresses pebbly & one to climbthey say wind or wind & It goes…
Anne Riesenberg: “The Leaves Will Protect Us,” a hybrid work

I am traveling through a country slowly catching on fire. Past towns simmering on dusty hillsides, bleached fields rattling in the sun. A girl walks towards me with a car balanced on top of her head—just the shell of it, no engine or wheels. The girl is swathed ankles to neck in a quilted jumpsuit.…