Rumpus Originals
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Rumpus Original Poetry: Three Poems by Rosa Alcalá
In my meanness I hear the mother of my mother and her mother / before her, the cold cellars and flat pillows of their hearts. The single current / of anger that ran through their voices, each daughter forever through time / believing…
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Make the Story Work, and the Politics Will Look After Itself: The Rumpus Interview with Tony Birch
It is easy to be awed by Tony Birch’s prolific body of work—his dynamic career ranging from firefighter to professor—his deep love of family and heritage, and his humility. He is a historian and climate change activist who outwardly observes…
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Sons and Daughters
Boys were boys and girls were girls and gender norms were there for a reason. We didn’t realize the reason was to keep women down. Maybe we just didn’t care.
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Rumpus Original Fiction: Scale
With my first blood, a scale appears, hard and iridescent in the soft skin below my arm. In bathroom mirror light, elbow raised, I press and prod, fingertips rusted from menstrual discovery. They trace red, which soaks into the skin…
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ENOUGH: Thawing a Dream
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: Three Poems by Issam Zineh
The sky in Clearwater is the print / of your dress—all aster & blue starling. / The year ends the way it began. You asking me / for the indescribable. Sky has no notion of sky.
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The Community Aspect of Poetry: A Conversation with H. Melt
I think poetry lends itself to community and getting to know people intimately. Poetry requires vulnerability.
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At the Crossing Between Words: Migrant Psalms by Darrel Alejandro Holnes
The actor stares the audience in the eye—shattering the fourth wall, and we’re implored to see better. Holnes challenges us to view our realities as multifaceted and dynamic—there are no neat boxes, no easy definitions.
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Opioids in Sobriety
Using opioids while maintaining my sobriety became a skill that I continued to develop over the following couple of years. The irony—finally becoming capable of moderating my drug use—was not lost on me.


