Daniel in the Lion's Den, by Sir Peter Paul Rubens
[fiction]

Pentecost

By Brian Sutton


Dear Sir: As requested, I shall begin by providing background information about myself. My name is Vernon Lantry. I am fifty-one years of age.

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The Rumen is a collaboration between writers and poets from a variety of demographics and backgrounds. Like the guts of an ungulate, we want The Rumen to be a space for ideas and experiences to digest, ferment, and transform.

Latest Publications:

[poetry]

Inquisition

By Meggie Royer

Before we knew, we heard— // the horses shot in the pasture, // clamor receding along the fence line like snow.

[fiction]

Quentin Compson Time

By Joseph Kenyon

I took the truck down the rough, narrow trail, rounding the final rutted bend out of the woods and onto the rocky beach surrounding the lake.

[poetry]

Pilliwinks and The Boot and My Head is a Cat B Jug

By Joseph Long

Ain’t that done yet? Ain’t that done? Three words which, // if spoken too soon, sears itself upon // my balloon.

[fiction]

Goat in the Machine

By Jeff Blechle

This morning Yeorgi woke up in his backyard feeling a bruise on his lower back, convinced that stacked chairs and vodka were not his friends, nor was his wife, if he was being honest, or his goat Omar, whose pretense of loyalty clashed with Yeorgi’s trusting nature—and poor little Boots lying dead with light bulb fragments decorating her scant cleavage, well, she was no great pal either, always shoving him into hazardous, life-threatening tasks, always trying to get out of paying him, criticizing.

[poetry]

Liquid Courage and trying magnesium for anxiety

By Jia Yan Tan

but if that doesn’t work then call your mother

[article]

Any Other

By Kristen Field

My parents knew that ten percent of my cells were missing an X-chromosome before I was born. I didn’t find out until I was nine.

[fiction]

Amma's Achaar

By Sharanya Tiwari

He dug and dug and dug. Under the scorching summer sun, Balram toiled endlessly.

[poetry]

Elegy for Overachieving

By Charlotte Maiorana

And yet nothing is as satisfying // as scratching the pen back // and forth over having it all // done and evidenced.

Submissions


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