Trees, asleep in winter, dreaming of sun and blossoms. And why shouldn’t they?
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.
By Ellen Orr
As cast in copper, pelican reflects. // Pale plumage tarred brown. Preening // for naught: water seeps in, chills.
There is an instant in all // Beginnings and endings // Where trees wait to bloom, // And rivers wait to flow.
I wake up. The morning sun is seeping in through the closed curtains. What a beautiful day!
A snake removes its skin // and sheds what little innocence // we might have given credence to.
By Tommy Cheis
Terror. In the sweat lodge. Drumming. Singing. Great Ones whispering.
By Glenn Wright
The black and yellow wasps // came at us from all directions.
The vampire was the only nice one at the party. He looked a little out of place, with his long cape and medallion, but very debonair and a little sad. He was standing near the counter dipping pita bread into the baba ganoush.
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.