Halloween II
Elizabeth Ellen
I smile into the mirror. There is lipstick on my front teeth. I don’t rub it off.
It’s bronzy August and I need this to be all over. / Most of my poems are shaped like crows, / so what’s eating you?
A man spills a red solo cup down my shirt like hands. Hands bury in my skin. The speakers bury in my skin. I have never felt farther from the sky, or from my own spit.
I smile into the mirror. There is lipstick on my front teeth. I don’t rub it off.
every great sadness has occurred because someone / decided fate with their bare hands.
Welcome to Hobart Photo Stories, a one stop shop for photos that will excite the brain, the eye and the heart.
Jennifer Loeber's pictures will remind you of your painful teenage years and
my body is an american / casket, shove the corpses / through my eyesockets til they spill / from my mouth
You’ll wake up on Labor Day and argue with the people you’re carpooling with over when to leave.
When my children walk by, it will be like looking into the sun. Your children will have to bow their heads. My children’s eyes will be the color of electric blue icebergs.
Now here I am. The same fucking predicament all over. The universe testing to see what I'll do.
I want to walk in where I walk in & not think about me or you or anyone else we know—I want my recycling to be perfect.
She didn’t spend her senior year serving soft serve and saving for a bus ticket to Los Angeles when she turned eighteen to end up riding a tandem bike around the park with some guy whose shorts were too short.
my angst is still young / and highly flammable / something interrupted / meant to be read out of order / one chord change to another
Hades was like the other men Evie had requested favors of; he asked Evie to explain herself before he believed that she wanted what she said she wanted.
Welcome to Hobart Photo Stories, a one stop shop for photos that will excite the brain, the eye and the heart.
—Tara Wray, photo editor
These pictures might have been
Introductions are stupid. Mostly they get in the way. Probably you have skipped ahead to read the actual interview. That's what I would have done by now. If you're still here, this is what you need
You halt the flow of traffic in a crosswalk to retrieve a fallen penny, / cheer your good fortune, and whisper: landmine.
Love Story (1970, dir. Arthur Hiller)
It’s comical that the rich kid with a building at Harvard named after his family is a hockey bruiser while the baker’s daughter not good enough to marry
Welcome to Hobart Photo Stories, a one stop shop for photos that will excite the brain, the eye and the heart.
—Tara Wray, photo editor
(2014-present) Time in New
Sitting in the Montreal bus terminal I make a decision. To eat the last of my weed candies.
One summer morning, Lyle Condy was cycling down the steep, straight hill of Magdalene Road in the city of Cambridge. His bike had a bell in strict accordance with local ordinances regarding cycling.