From the Archive: Unbound
It’s always been ground glass, scraping against my insides. I imagine a light held to the place where I open would illuminate a mess of torn flesh, throbbing red-wet.
...moreBecome a Rumpus Member
Join NOW!It’s always been ground glass, scraping against my insides. I imagine a light held to the place where I open would illuminate a mess of torn flesh, throbbing red-wet.
...moreClothes, plants, and broken aluminum doors on balconies—all was inside out.
...more“A poem cannot exist without form or structure, just like the human body can’t operate without a skeleton.”
...moreWhy was he so broken? And why did his broken make me feel broken, too?
...moreEach bug in the water is one less bug on my fruit, I tell myself, ignoring the truth: under the soil, another is born.
...moreThere’s no blueprint for any of this. If there were, I would have read it by now.
...moreIn my eight years as a Mad Men fan, the series has repeatedly prompted me to reflect on parenting.
...more