A Kind of Balm: Angel Bones by Ilyse Kusnetz
Except she isn’t windless and neither are we, thanks to her.
...moreExcept she isn’t windless and neither are we, thanks to her.
...moreIn the dark, I felt at home in the underground bunker where the hospital stored its violent men.
...moreI start talking late, making word-sounds with my throat long before I open my mouth. When my lips and tongue begin to unfreeze, the progression of brain cancer locks my grandfather’s jaw in place.
...moreThe weekend is over, but the Rumpus features remain. Another installation of Yumi and Everyone We Know about fire tigers (they only burn you alive if you forget to offer them candy). And a Sunday Rumpus essay called “On Color, Brain Cancer, and the Possibility That I Am Already Dead,” about, well, color, brain cancer, and […]
...moreWhen the author discovers that even his “favorite color” isn’t safe from reinvention, he sets out to explore what it means to maintain a fixed identity over time.
...more