ENOUGH: Alone
A Rumpus series of work by women, trans, and nonbinary writers that engages with rape culture, sexual assault, and domestic violence.
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Rumpus Original Poetry: Two Poems by Jasmine Khaliq
I’m tired of sheeping. / how boring, to be good. / a head gets heavy. / I can only feel this ribbon brush against my throat / so long, you know. / one day I’ll untie it, I know, let the whole thing roll off.
Voices on Addiction: The Neighbor
I wanted to write about opioids because I didn’t have an opioid problem.
Rumpus Original Poetry: Four Poems by Micky Bayonne
once in the splendor of death, we magnify his name two of each for everyone. one for me & for me too. each one …
FROM THE ARCHIVES: Rumpus Original Fiction: Sabbath
There’s something about stillness that always comes just before the miracles.
ENOUGH: Witch That She Is
A Rumpus series of work by women, trans, and nonbinary writers that engages with rape culture, sexual assault, and domestic violence.
Rumpus Original Poetry: Three Poems by Erika Luckert
you write that “what we worship / makes us what we are,” and if this is true / then based on the poems of yours I’ve read so far / you are both a daughter and a god, / if this is true, I am a vine, invasive, here / to climb a wall. “As tendrils cling and twine / about the tree,” you write, and I try / to unwind your words into a history.
FROM THE ARCHIVE: FUNNY WOMEN: Feminist Valentine’s Day Gifts
Stretch. Listen in hundreds of different positions. Listen a little to the left; now a little to the right.
Rumpus Original Poetry: Two Poems by Sarah Fathima Mohammed
Moons empty in the whisper / of space between us. / Mother’s ankles roll into / my calf, brimming with silver, / with sleep. The night is made / of photographs. We sleep over / the prayer rug, woven from / all the daughters that have / pressed their lips to it / and swallowed.
ENOUGH: Girl Power
A Rumpus series of work by women, trans, and nonbinary writers that engages with rape culture, sexual assault, and domestic violence.
Rumpus Original Poetry: Two Poems by Alexa Patrick
The first boy to call me beautiful / had hair like a waving fist, walked / down the hallway, radius of curl / beckoning white hands that he’d / allow, though, I’d watch a little / light in him dim to tar.