He dug and dug and dug. Under the scorching summer sun, Balram toiled endlessly.
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.
And yet nothing is as satisfying // as scratching the pen back // and forth over having it all // done and evidenced.
By C.A.Dickson
The first time I tasted a Landomunn Farms pistachio, it ruined me.
If you move a chair, // the Pharaoh's curse may turn out // to be a fact.
Outside, the morning sun // Is sitting in the sky // Like a cake plate crayoned
I will never forget // how quickly your scooter sped down the hill
By Anya Reeve
The smoke tasted on my tongue that morning, mingled with fresh bite of air. Once on my tongue, the sapidity of ashing wood exhaled from my breath and nostrils. Clear, oh so clear.
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.