At Disney, I Cry Over the Water Buffalos
There are six of you in Animal Kingdom, in the section called “Asia,” and I joke to my American friends that I am home.
Recent posts
Rumpus Articles
Misperceptions, Assumptions, and Slurs: Jackie Domenus’s No Offense
Even when doing the work to figure ourselves out, even within the seemingly safest of spaces, we must grapple with how others contain and label us.
Rumpus Original Fiction: Second of April
On the third fools’ day, Ma was shrinking downward and I was floating upward.
Chaos Seeps Into Order: A Conversation with Maria Reva
If you can laugh about a difficult situation, laugh in your aggressor’s face, it gives you a sense of power.
Rumpus Original Poetry: Brian Gyamfi
Soon after the rain, no sound is heard. / No fluttering of wings. / Just a silent house in a city / and father, haunted with visions / of barely and fire.
Voices on Addiction: A Small, Dry Place
My earliest impressions of my father are like the negatives in a reel of over-exposed 35mm film, the kind of images that were returned from the photo lab with quality control stickers, marked “light damaged.”
A Summertime Swoon Tash Aw’s The South
The relationship helps Jay achieve a sense of selfhood that promises to outlast the usual parameters of a summer romance. In a sense, he’s coming out to himself.
Rumpus Original Fiction: Dead Man Sink
Bennie knew her mother wasn’t beautiful. She knew this because her mother wouldn’t swim.
Despair is a Luxury, but Hope is a Discipline: A Conversation with Robert Macfarlane
Despair is a luxury, but hope is a discipline.
What to Read When You Want to Find Mystery in the Ordinary
...I find myself most excited about writing that is focused on the concrete facts of daily life.
We Are More: Ghazal of my Childhood
I remember being told Onsi was a poor artist barely able to feed his family, and my mother, an admirer of his art and a lover of nature, bought all his paintings.
Contrast, Rumination, and Metamorphosis: Diannely Antigua’s Good Monster
As in her debut, Antigua heads off any feelings of confessional monotony by mixing her diary poems with an elegant variety of lesser confessional, more expositional poems.