Rumpus Original Fiction: Trinity
We stood there in silence for a while. Small waves of sound lapped at the stone walls and low monuments of the church: car tires, distant sirens, subway rumble.
Recent posts
Rumpus Articles
To Name and Document, Cherish and Remember: A Conversation with Sarah Ghazal Ali
I am moved by the revelation that comes but does not announce itself, as a powerful ending or climax might, but waits to be returned to and recognized.
National Poetry Month: Ina Cariño
before bed, he saw out of the corner / of his eye the silhouette of his own dead lolo, / waving goodbye.
National Poetry Month: Lauren Camp
a jeweled delusion that took the whole side / of the house by the basketball hoop safe to say all / my childhood I came in the back door spinning
National Poetry Month: Maya Marshall
Every house I passed looked like anywhere I’d want to live. I wanted / and wanted: a house, a family, a house, a family,
A Fierce Kind of Hope: A Conversation with Brooke Shaffner
I don’t think we can find a way forward without facing what we have done to each other and our home.
National Poetry Month: Steven Leyva
:: one month of gap coverage :: can’t be sick / in August :: can’t be this tired today :: can’t be poor ever ::
A Comedy of Venture Capitalism: Ryan Chapman’s The Audacity
PrevYou is the hottest startup in Silicon Valley . . . The only problem? The claims are phony.
National Poetry Month: Ariana Brown
Go to a llantero Uncle Junior would trust. Never go to the dealership. Never pay full / price for anything. If you do, you should love it.
“Pregnancy as a Haunted House:” A Conversation with Clare Beams
To me [metaphor] feels connected to the heart of fiction: I’m making a whole fantastical thing in order to capture the essence of a real state or feeling, in order to give myself a language for it.