Rumpus Original Fiction: Tuesday Morning, Downtown
I’m going to quit, I said. For you. I’ll quit.
Blogs
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National Poetry Month: Brandon Som
The / hibiscus out my window now blooms the bright / tongue & lips of the Rolling Stones car-freshener / hanging from the rearview mirror of my tío’s / Chevy.
National Poetry Month: Hayan Charara
And the numbers—the numbers / I see every morning—not birds / but people! people!—
National Poetry Month: Patrick Rosal
I am listening to the gone / I am listening to the going / even when not / speaking or singing
National Poetry Month: Catherine Bowman
Our table / more unearthed / than built by an ox / of an earthy man // that speaks in a dialect
National Poetry Month: Lena Khalaf Tuffaha
Have you dressed for the mirror today
Have you draped the darkening glass in gauze
National Poetry Month: Kieron Walquist
I never thought I’d live to see / us out of the house, on our own.
National Poetry Month: Sadie Dupuis
I did this. Took my own photo, / painted over my eyes, listened / closer.
National Poetry Month: Roger Reeves
Listen—the owl again in the branches above us / Giving up his position despite the war.
“A black sheet between present and ancestors”: Kiran Bath’s Instructions for Banno
It is as if we are falling backward, towards the sky, towards the structural silencing of bannos, and Bath’s words wrap around us like curled balloon string and lead us back toward the ground.
National Poetry Month: Naomi Shihab Nye
If someone says something ugly / we don’t have to say it too. We say No.