Posts by author
Eman Quotah
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We Are More: Istanbul
“Don’t ask her what happened,” Abu Mali says. We do anyways, in Arabic so he can’t understand, but she ignores us.
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Rumpus Original Fiction: Only Humans
Hearing old people’s memories is like watching a once-in-three-generations downpour. In the past, they lived in abundance and air conditioning. So many details go over Salwa’s head. She doesn’t know how to transcribe all the words.
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The Last Poem I Loved: “The Cinnamon Peeler” by Michael Ondaatje
How different the world of the poem was from Saudi culture, which draped me in black and insisted, it often seemed, on One Truth.