From the Archive: Rumpus Original Fiction: Mr. Burley
My favorite was usually the smallest, the most alive.
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Rumpus Original Fiction: Prepare a Table Before Me, Anoint My Head with Oil
Before I understood that I was a girl, I understood that I was a body.
We Are More: I Can’t Tell
It’s February 1991, and I can’t tell you where the Middle East is on a map, or why it’s called the Middle East. But my family eats Syrian bread with every meal (I can’t tell you the difference between Syrian bread and pita, but I know they’re not the same).
Rumpus Original Fiction: The Bridal Set
The salad was plump, squealing things I couldn’t understand. I remembered feeling a deep sadness that everything in the world wasn’t painted green, the best color. I hungered for green. The gift of sunlight flecked on leaves, the pale chartreuse of American money.
From the Archive: The Rumpus Inaugural Poems: Eve L. Ewing
Each day from January 7 to January 20, Rumpus Original Poems will feature poetry written in response to the coming presidential inauguration. Today’s poems are from Eve L. Ewing.
Rumpus Original Fiction: White Ash
My wife, Ritu, a receptionist at a motel, works four nights a week. In the morning, I pick her up in our used Honda and drive her home. After she…
Funny Women: Things I Wish I Could Workshop Other Than My Novel
Do I come across as a middle child with first-child energy? Would you recommend treatment for my character, and if so, from a sliding-scale social worker or a psychiatrist? Meditation or medication? Out-patient or in?
RUMPUS POETRY BOOK CLUB EXCERPT by Courtney Faye Taylor
An excerpt from The Rumpus Poetry Book Club's December selection, CONCENTRATE by Courtney Faye Taylor from Graywolf Press
Rumpus Original Fiction: Rapunzel House
“Don’t worry,” he says. “Give it time. It’ll grow on you.”
Voices On Addiction: The Hypnotist
Dad quit smoking via a hypnotist shortly before my sister Margaret was born. When I was eight or nine, he liked telling me the story of the hypnosis, sitting together on the green sofa in the living room, parallelograms of sunlight on the brown carpet.
Rumpus Original Fiction: The Night of in Tangas
The problem for my father was the same. He had no money to buy confetti and to top everything off he now owed the price of two corundas.