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.
Tears roll down his cheeks, as Ray stares at the uneaten cheeseburger, cold and congealing on his plate
By Cecil Morris
The embryo that bloomed ectopic in the wife // who left me would be 45 this year and lives // in the cryogenic regions of my brain
My Thaathaa - grandfather in Tamil - is dozing off as I complete a set of ritualized breathing exercises while quietly chanting in Sanskrit.
By Peter Rustin
Thirty minutes ago: the calm droning of the red-eye from JFK to Los Angeles. The cabin lights dimmed. Two teenage sisters sleeping, in pastel sweatshirts, heads nestled, sharing a pair of earbuds linked to an iPhone.
The antique store hides // a portal to the underworld // behind a wall of maps // of places that don’t exist.
By Chris Corlew
willow-white duck // the blistered // spigot squirts not only for you // but for my irradiated necktie
By J. A. Hersh
They were driving straight down a dark road, their little green car bumping on the potholes. It wasn’t a long drive back to their apartment. Fifteen minutes or so.
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.