The Middle Season
My doctor told me to begin with adding five minutes to my morning walk. During those five minutes, I recalled the life I’d once had—that intense life that ambition gave me—and the man I’d once been.
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fathers
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Meditation
We looked up as we moved. A handful of stars watched us behind a ripped black canvas of clouds. It started to rain as we all got to our cars. The skies poured down globs of heavy rain that burst out like tiny bombs around us.
The Rumpus Poetry Book Club Chat with David Rivard
David Rivard discusses his new collection Standoff, writing as both a public and private act, the interiority of reading, and Pokémon GO.
The Insanity of Eating
I didn’t usually consider how the binge felt. I just ate until I couldn’t eat anymore.
Rumpus Original Fiction: Mandarin Imperial
Growing up, I understood my father through observation, and I suspect that he understood me much the same way. I liked to think our love was purer that way. Like two stray dogs who found each other and are blessed enough to just get along.
The Saturday Rumpus Essay: Heirlooms
The strings of our DNA mark us as one, but it’s the roots of our memories that bind us.
The Rumpus Interview with Ann Packer
Ann Packer discusses her most recent novel The Children's Crusade, artistic mothers, the writer and her “first principle,” and the fight to like your own characters.
Spotlight: “A Farmer’s Hands” by Dale Vande Griend
I grew up on a farm in Iowa where my dad has worked every day of his life. He is the hardest working yet most loving man I have ever known.
Rumpus Original Fiction: Monkey Men
Still lying on the bed in the Wausau hotel room, I started counting ceiling tiles. From above the covers. Not under. Never under. I always feel constricted, under.
The Name Before My Name
There are times when I must uncork the period, for Isabel only chases my given name.