Miscarriage
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Reclamation, Reassembly, and Recognition: Jasminne Méndez’s Night-Blooming Jasmin(n)e
What happens when the source of grief comes from within?
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Dead Name
In the Parenting Transgender Children support groups I belong to on Facebook, we refer to our previous-gendered child’s birth name as Dead Name.
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A Hinging Thing: Talking with Maggie Smith
Maggie Smith discusses her new collection Good Bones, how motherhood has changed her writing, and what it felt like to have a poem go viral.
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All of Our Pre-Existing Conditions
We admit ourselves to the list of conditions, confess to the hospitals we’ve entered over the years. Through my glowing phone screen the body pokes through.
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This Week in Essays
Jordan Ritter Conn tells a devastating story about a group of people connected around the Pulse nightclub shooting for The Ringer. [Note: gun violence, descriptions of the attack.] Could gondolas be the next frontier for public transportation? Duncan Geere’s informative piece…
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A Place with Teeth
It will be fine, I had told them. It will be an adventure. I was in love. Love is an eternal optimist.
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Weekend Rumpus Roundup
First, in the Saturday Essay, Kaitlin Barker Davis lays bare the grief, and examines the imperfect, often bizarre language, that accompanies a “missed miscarriage.” And Brandon Hicks shares irreverent bits from his drawing board in “Misc.: Stray Thoughts.” Then, in the Sunday Essay, Piper J.…
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The Saturday Rumpus Essay: Such a Thing
The future perfect tense indicates an action that is certain to occur. But when the future is not perfect or certain, the conditional “would” is more appropriate.
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A Man’s ABCs of Miscarriage
I once heard the only thing faster than the speed of light is the speed of thought, and I wonder if simply thinking about Sawyer’s sister until my head hurts could get us to the place we fear talking about.
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This Is Not a Story About a Ghost
This is a story about memory. About neurons misfiring, about the strange space between dream and awake, that feeling, when I’m falling asleep, of falling backwards, swinging my arms up to catch myself.
