From the Archive: Rumpus Original Fiction: No Good
The sounds that she would expect here are entirely absent. There are no cries, no weeping. Just soothing, muffled tones.
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Rumpus Original Fiction: The Turning of Celestial Bodies
When I start running, I want you to keep your eyes on it, because you’ll notice something that may seem strange. You will find that no matter where I run, or how long, or how far, you will not see this moon move an inch in the sky.
A World Where We Are Known and Loved: Shelley Wong’s As She Appears
to be seen is not the same thing as being known
Rumpus Original Fiction: On the Farm
On the farm, I understand exactly the degree to which I have come to depend on alcohol, since in the first three weeks I think about it frequently and get worried and even look for it twice in the farmer’s house, and on the fourth week I am less interested, and on the fifth week I do other things.
ENOUGH: Landlines
Before my father killed her, my mother spent her evenings telling me the story of how she came to America. Every night, the way she started was with something new.
RUMPUS POETRY BOOK CLUB EXCERPT: GARDEN by Gabrielle Bates
An excerpt from The Rumpus Poetry Book Club's January selection, JUDAS GOAT by Gabrielle Bates forthcoming from Tin House Books on January 24, 2023
Voices on Addiction: Whatever Fatal Thing
D— was dreamy in the precise manner of Neil Young circa 1974. Long, dark hair; green eyes; great butt; nice smile. He was sweet, funny, just tall enough. Wore a…
The Last Book
The poet goes to the supermarket for peanut butter. The poet cleans the toilet. The poet responds to emails.
From the Archive: Rumpus Original Fiction: Mr. Burley
My favorite was usually the smallest, the most alive.