In Situ
It was there all along: // a knot beneath the skin, // a stranger's tongue in darkness
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.
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Latest Publications:
Hypnotizing Chickens
One Saturday afternoon in the shoulder // season between calving and haying
let us cast lots, and can't we have a lesbian love story where no one dies?
I hate rich people, // my son says, spat // from the belly of the bus // that each day returns him // to dry land
Seeds of Pomegranate
Usually Rafael was called Rafa, but Hope shortened it further to Raf. Some of the other men who worked at the hotel would tease him when they heard this, but Rafael never mentioned it to her. He met her briefly while she worked the day shift during the summer time, when the sun would bleed through the windows and warm her pale face while she stood behind the front desk.
Rue
By Arjun Khade
In her woman's world, a virtual wombniverse; her vultcherish watchers wild in their flickering half-dreams of fleshy lust and crimson joy.
brine, this is a Bauhaus love affair, and there are foxes now
By Lucinda Trew
snow is coming // so are trucks carrying // glacial tons of salt to season // winter and cure streets // with brine
Gravity
Before I knew what hit me, Tom was my husband—the adoptive father of my children, and a sought-after dealmaker in our affluent community. Tom was a risk-taker. He had a certain style. An iconoclast, he did things his way or not at all.
Becoming a Believer and NFPA 70E
The locals, believers of gods, drink tsipouro long into the night // And brag to me about how lucky they were to be born here
In the Wake of Fr. X
By MH Petrus
One recent Sunday, I attended St. Augustine Catholic church in the Tremont neighborhood of Cleveland, close to where I live. This was not typical behavior for me; I had grown disaffected with the Catholic Church through the years, but I liked to dip my toe into its baptismal font, so to speak, on occasion, usually around Easter, to see if I felt closer to God.
Submissions
Have a poem, short story, or piece of creative non-fiction that you'd like to share with the world? Visit our submissions page to learn more about contributing to The Rumen.
