Resurrection on a daily basis: Exploring The Hurting Kind with Ada Limón
How do we face the world and also love the world? That's one of the questions of my life, maybe.
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poetry
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From the Archive: Sunday Rumpus Poetry: Three Poems by Fatimah Asghar
& yes, my family did raise me right. Yes, / they cleaned their bones & cracked them clean / open to suck. Would fight over cartilage & knuckle/Sip the marrow’s nectar from urn. .
From the Archive: Rumpus Original Poetry: Three Poems by Raymond Antrobus
On screen, I’m peering up a faintly lit staircase and all goes grainy.
From the Archive: The Saturday Rumpus Essay: I Left My Heart in Taos
You might gasp. You might gasp and your heart slips out. You whisper and let red willows drift toward the river.
So Much At Risk: Talking with Christopher Soto
If I am audacious enough to imagine [my] reader, then I imagine this is a person who has never had the option to look away.
Reading Achy Obejas’s BOOMERANG/BUMERÁN as Indelible and Recursive Testimony
A review of BOOMERANG/BUMERÁN, a bilingual poetry collection from Achy Obejas available now from Beacon Press.
Rumpus Original Poetry: Three Poems by Rosa Alcalá
In my meanness I hear the mother of my mother and her mother / before her, the cold cellars and flat pillows of their hearts. The single current / of anger that ran through their voices, each daughter forever through time / believing herself a burden.
I Write to Make Myself Unrecognized: A Conversation with Shangyang Fang
In Buddhism, there is always an expression on this and that, and the yes and no of this and that. For example, the other side of the river is a metaphor of death, in contrast to this life, this side. I hope that poetry is a way to shatter the border.
ENOUGH: Witch That She Is
A Rumpus series of work by women, trans, and nonbinary writers that engages with rape culture, sexual assault, and domestic violence.
Rumpus Original Poetry: Two Poems by Alexa Patrick
The first boy to call me beautiful / had hair like a waving fist, walked / down the hallway, radius of curl / beckoning white hands that he’d / allow, though, I’d watch a little / light in him dim to tar.
Rumpus Original Poetry: Two Poems by Kate Hao
I thought / you had grown angry with me but turns out / you were just lazy.
Rumpus Original Poetry: Four Poems by Leah Claire Kaminski
it’s dark there, and wet, and time is closing in