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Staring at that profile picture, I couldn’t not click.
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Posts Tagged: Father
The Storming Bohemian Punks the Muse #35: Moons and Mirrors, Fathers and Sons
So, I had a vision this morning in which I visited the moon. What’s that? You don’t have visions? Oh, my friend, you must learn to have visions; it is a gift that saves. I did not intend to go to the moon. I was trying to visit a figure I met in a dream: […]
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Sunday Rumpus Poetry: Five Poems by Jan-Henry Gray
Dry-mouthed, standing shoulder to shoulder, / They watch the carousel spit out black bags / And mumble “not mine” over and over.
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The Rumpus Poetry Book Club Chat with Jennifer Whitaker
Jennifer Whitaker discusses her new collection The Blue Hour, persona poems, the violence in fairy tales, and writing about sexual abuse.
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Weekend Rumpus Roundup
In the Saturday essay, “Broken Bird: Reflections on The Upside of Anger,” Kathryn Buckley notes similarities between the film, starring Keri Russell, and her own experiences—both she and Russell’s character struggled with anorexia. When Buckley finds herself in an MFA program, something clicks. She is “peaceful again” and finally able to reassure her mother that […]
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OG Dad #21: The Head Bang, the Hole In The Wall, and the Happy Fart
My daughter likes to bang her head off the floor. It makes a point—an especially guilt-tinged one, given that we had to get rid of our carpets due to a mold infestation, so now there’s no cushion between baby cranium and wood.
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This Man Is Not My Father
I’m sitting across from the man who looks exactly like my father would look if my father had lived to be fifty-seven. If my father hadn’t died sixteen years ago when I was thirteen. But he did.
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Eulogy Material
“This is eulogy material,” my father says as he explains this logic. He preps me, teaches me what to say, how to stand. “Remember how he used to draw symbols on his socks,” he begins…
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For All the Saints
I’m a student, I say. My teacher has told me to go to a cemetery and find a stone, any stone, that speaks to me. I chose Kenda’s because hers gave more information, more anything, than any other stone I saw in the one cemetery I visited.
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DEAR SUGAR, The Rumpus Advice Column #55: The Empty Bowl
Why is there no word for this feeling?
...moreTHE LONELY VOICE #7, The Rumpus Short Story Column: My Son the Murderer
In honor of Governor Mark Sanford and Michael Jackson’s (bless his Indiana soul) favorite holiday, today’s Lonely Voice is devoted to dads, interesting, fascinating, All-American dads…
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