The Rumen

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Prose

poem
[flash fiction]

“Barbie and Ken should moan a bit. I think adults make a lot of noise when they’re doing it,” Dee says to Jennifer, as they smoosh their Barbie and Ken dolls together.


poem
[short story]

One week ago, the news arrived: Grandpa had passed away.


poem
[flash fiction]

I, Johannes Flavius nee Jan Floet of Antwerp, briefly of Augsburg, woodcutter and printer, killer of ants on vestibule and plate, eater of fried trotters and the smaller fried bits that fall off them, claim this few blessed metres as my home.


poem
[short story]

I don’t know if anyone truly believed the moon had disappeared. Your senses, famously, can get the better of you regarding such things. And invisibility is an exceptional disguise.


poem
[short story]

The manatees have messed with his head. He said it was the manatees that messed him up. As a kid, he was terrified of swimming with the manatees.



Poetry

You take the bus //  to an appointment // at the university but // it’s the wrong day.
[free verse]

You take the bus // to an appointment // at the university but // it’s the wrong day.


I hand him the tooth that evacuated by itself // rootless molar nub, yellowish, half me, half porcelain
[free verse]

I hand him the tooth that evacuated by itself // rootless molar nub, yellowish, half me, half porcelain


We’d put branches on the tracks thinking they’d derail the train. // 
We’d spend evergreen mornings tilting mirrors of dew, & rail
[free verse]

We’d put branches on the tracks thinking they’d derail the train. // We’d spend evergreen mornings tilting mirrors of dew, & rail



About Us

The Rumen is a collaboration between writers, poets, and artists 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.

We are especially interested in publishing contributors from historically underrepresented people groups.

About Us

Social Media

Support

Want to help The Rumen grow? Share us on social media, tell your friends, or buy us a coffee!

Articles

[memoir]

When I listen to Liars’ 2012 album WIXIW especially the trancey musings of “Octagon,” its hyper electronic drums, plodding keyboard bass, Angus Andrew’s murmurings of “I thought, I’ll live, I always thought you” or whatever it is he’s saying, I feel that a hole has been ripped in time...


[memoir]

"This isn't a dry place but a dried place; this isn't a hot place but a heated place."


I’m alone in the kitchen when I double over. Moaning in protest, I grab the counter, though I know I’ll be dragged under.


[memoir]

This course will take you through 14 Latin America countries on planes, buses, taxicabs, bicycles, rafts, tuk-tuks, mopeds, and your own two feet.


“Barbie and Ken should moan a bit. I think adults make a lot of noise when they’re doing it,” Dee says to Jennifer, as they smoosh their Barbie and Ken dolls together.
[flash fiction]

“Barbie and Ken should moan a bit. I think adults make a lot of noise when they’re doing it,” Dee says to Jennifer, as they smoosh their Barbie and Ken dolls together.


You take the bus //  to an appointment // at the university but // it’s the wrong day.
[free verse]

You take the bus // to an appointment // at the university but // it’s the wrong day.


I hand him the tooth that evacuated by itself // rootless molar nub, yellowish, half me, half porcelain
[free verse]

I hand him the tooth that evacuated by itself // rootless molar nub, yellowish, half me, half porcelain


One week ago, the news arrived: Grandpa had passed away.
[short story]

One week ago, the news arrived: Grandpa had passed away.


I, Johannes Flavius nee Jan Floet of Antwerp, briefly of Augsburg, woodcutter and printer, killer of ants on vestibule and plate, eater of fried trotters and the smaller fried bits that fall off them, claim this few blessed metres as my home.
[flash fiction]

I, Johannes Flavius nee Jan Floet of Antwerp, briefly of Augsburg, woodcutter and printer, killer of ants on vestibule and plate, eater of fried trotters and the smaller fried bits that fall off them, claim this few blessed metres as my home.


We’d put branches on the tracks thinking they’d derail the train. // 
We’d spend evergreen mornings tilting mirrors of dew, & rail
[free verse]

We’d put branches on the tracks thinking they’d derail the train. // We’d spend evergreen mornings tilting mirrors of dew, & rail


I don’t know if anyone truly believed the moon had disappeared. Your senses, famously, can get the better of you regarding such things. And invisibility is an exceptional disguise.
[short story]

I don’t know if anyone truly believed the moon had disappeared. Your senses, famously, can get the better of you regarding such things. And invisibility is an exceptional disguise.


About Us

The Rumen is a collaboration between writers, poets, and artists 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.

We are especially interested in publishing contributors from historically underrepresented people groups.

About Us

Social Media

Support

Want to help The Rumen grow? Share us on social media, tell your friends, or buy us a coffee!

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