Rumpus Original Fiction: Let All Our Ghosts Depart
This is what beauty was, she said. This is what beauty made you into.
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Owning the Self: Yesenia Montilla’s Muse Found in a Colonized Body
I only care about revolution / & the ugly business of revenge.
Rumpus Original Fiction: A Note to Say Hello, I’m Here
“I don’t know why the hell he chose to live here, of all places. Sometimes it feels like the loneliest city in the world.”
Rumpus Original Poetry: Three Poems by Dorothea Lasky
In the space of the garden / I ordered each mouthless opening / Until they formed into spirit mouths
ENOUGH: Hold Your Breath Up To The Mirror and Draw Yourself a New Face
I wish you didn’t have to climb onto the light fixture like a revenant, / watch his fingers probe someone glued to the ground, her eyes a fist.
Funny Women: Ways* to Get Reproductive Rights
Click your heels three times and say "there's no rights like reproductive rights."
The World of Family and the Otherworldly: Jenny Sadre-Orafai’s Dear Outsiders
Odd and evocative, Dear Outsiders does what literature does best—it takes the reader into a new world which changes them while it too changes.
Rumpus Original Fiction: She Walks in Fields of Light
I don’t know if she’s dangerous, or crazy like they say. But in this deadening place, she’s the only live wire.
Rumpus Original Poetry: Two Poems by Carey Salerno
how exactly to ignite, to speak in sign, what the flashing draws down, damp, out, and what it / means to be a newborn body made of burnt-back embers, drifting over the sidewalk
Voices on Addiction: Whole Pools of It
This time, Mandy calls me. Her words are much quicker. There is the force of meaning behind them, but the slur is still perceivable at the edges.
Rumpus Original Fiction: The Dollmaker
Sakshi can lay me over her workbench, unstitch my skin, stuff me with fur, and then sew me. She can weave her magic into me. Make me not be myself anymore.
Rumpus Original Fiction: Storytellers
The first thing I learn is that storytelling is a strange art. Listening to stories all my life has not, in any way, prepared me to tell my own.