Rumpus Essay
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Animal Rescue
The morning I found Gaspard and Vincent, I had just visited the punk house where the ex boyfriend had been staying. He had some things of mine that I couldn’t let him keep . . .
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Voices On Addiction: Speaking Ill of the Dead
I have always felt stuck in the quicksand of Wanting-Things-To-Be-Different.
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An Apparent Lowering of Moral Standards in the Lepidoptera
“Is this sex?” “No.” “Is this sex?” “No.” “How about now?” “Maybe.” “I think so.” “Probably.”
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From the Archive: The Saturday Rumpus Essay: DNA
Of course, maybe dividing the world into two kinds of people is just another way of making sure there is a crack in everything. When can you smooth out this fault line?
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From the Archive: The Weight of Our Living: On Hope, Fire Escapes, and Visible Desperation
I want to leave the party through the window and find my uncle standing on a piece of iron shaped into visible desperation, which must also be (how can it not?) the beginning of visible hope.
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Thalassophobia: The Black Boy and the Sea
I am now twenty-seven, and I still do not know how to swim.
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The Microphone
The ableism of schools as workplaces means that all teachers are assumed to be able-bodied until a disabled teacher identifies their need for accommodations. Schools respond; they do not, to my knowledge, anticipate disabled teachers.
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ENOUGH: ’Til Death
Rape stories are like weddings—everyone thinks theirs is remarkable, but they are usually disarmingly, eye-glazingly indistinguishable.
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Under My Kilt
It’s heavier than I thought it would be, and stiffer. The cotton drill fabric has the feel of an army jacket. The snaps and clasps and buckles have a certain sensuality, a resonance of kink, but otherwise, in color and…
