hobart logo

September 9, 2019 | Nonfiction

Egg Face

Hea-Ream Lee

Sometimes I want to take the industrial strength green Korean loofah, my sandpapery mitten, and just scrub at my face until huge chunks of flesh tear away and roll into brown fleshy noodles and fall to the floor. Afterwards, I won’t be bloody and flayed, all raw nerve endings and hamburger meat, I’ll be smooth as a peeled egg, soft and firm and pliant to the touch.

 

Egg Face photo
The Pastor and Marguerite photo

September 6, 2019 | Nonfiction

The Pastor and Marguerite

Melissa Mesku

My heart is open. I can feel it. It’s never open. This can’t be a coincidence. This—

Two Poems photo

September 6, 2019 | Poetry

Two Poems

Kevin Latimer

this poem starts on a tuesday in Kansas

a twister settles in. there is a twister dancing 
in the night like a blight on the sky’s eye & 
the people are afraid. someone yells: there is a

Magic Booth photo

September 5, 2019 | Nonfiction

Magic Booth

Chris J. Bahnsen

My father’s disjointed rage has shocked him—I’ve seen that look before. He no longer draws from his beer even as Dad tilts his own way up.