New World Writing Quarterly

My name was Wilter. I worked in sales. Ceramics, earth­en­ware, minaret lanterns. We sold tiles in rusty ocean, sil­ver oat, under­sto­ry, these were our colours. There was no pres­sure, tar­gets, account­abil­i­ty, and every month-end I was up for –more

Birthday

I was going to have Michelangelo’s bake you a huge cas­sa­ta birth­day cake with mul­ti­ple tiers, and hol­lowed out in the mid­dle so I could jump out and sur­prise you, but then I asked myself—am I what you would choose to have pop out of a cake? Might –more

They heard about the retreat cen­ter from a friend of a friend. They heard about it from an ex-cowork­er, an ex-lover, an ex-in-law. They liked the pho­tos on the web­site. They imag­ined them­selves sit­ting on the pret­ty lit­tle bench in the pret­ty lit­tle –more

The birds here sound like alarm clocks from the 1970s. I’m watch­ing two in particular—five if you count babies who sound more like key fobs. A Steller’s Jay har­ries a small­er bird guard­ing a nest. The Steller’s Jay crash­es through fir fronds, –more

Interview with Ruby from “Soft White Underbelly” on YouTube.

–more

The Word Problem Effect

When a rain­drop begins to descend from the height of one mile over York, Pennsylvania, it is four o’clock in the after­noon. The drop is gray blue, par­tial­ly magen­ta. At the same time in Lexington, Kentucky, train A leaves the sta­tion head­ing west. –more

PABLO NERUDA

Our tongues ring
like bells, your
fin­gers groan up
the back of my
neck.

We fill this
space with a
lot of things

like

your point­ed feet
the bridge of your mouth
for­tune cookies

the way I escape
death each
time.

~

PATROL

I found you cry­ing in a –more

This sto­ry is inspired by and named for the daugh­ters of Amanda Stanton, Minor Star of Bachelor Nation, Year 2016

1

Our names are Kinsley and Charlie. We are wait­ing for our moth­er to come home.

In Los Angeles, in a man­sion, our moth­er is falling in love –more

What baby wants

We got him a rock­ing horse but our baby com­plained it was made of wood and it wasn’t very nice for the tree, and we tried to explain how one thing always dis­places anoth­er, but our baby was hav­ing none of it. He lay in my wife’s arms, a tiny frown –more

Her hus­band nev­er dis­suad­ed her, though he didn’t love every look. Annually, there’d be a new ’do—different lengths, tex­tures, col­ors, and shapes. Twenty years in, she got dras­tic and asked, Should I cut it all off? Yes, he said with­out hes­i­ta­tion, –more

Out of Touch

He touched the win­dow, and the win­dow dis­solved. A hum­ming­bird hov­ered, star­ing into his eyes, then flew away. A bee bounced off his cheek, and a fly cir­cled his head. He caught it, but when he opened his hand, the fly was gone. He picked up a glass –more

“You got­ta love the Sharon Lipschutzes of the world,” says James.  “You real­ly do.”

Rachel turns the page of her book and looks over at her hus­band.  “Sharon Lipschutz?”  She squints at the cov­er of his book even though she already knows –more

Twenty-two grams in. Thirty-four grams out.

Shot for shot for shot.

I tweak the dial, get­ting close to the per­fect grind.

“This ain’t no mocha hut. Man, this is a legit cof­fee shop,” yells the barista from the morn­ing shift. He’s con­vinc­ing him­self –more

Long before Callum ever took his first step into the murky waters of Loch Ness, he knew what lurked below. Callum’s moth­er had always been fas­ci­nat­ed with the idea of undis­cov­ered crea­tures liv­ing among us. And because of her proud Scottish her­itage, –more

Green & Blue

Two insects thin-limbed as grasshop­pers with but­ter­fly wings, one spring­time green, one fairy­tale blue, flut­ter, flick­er, land on your fin­gers in the sun-spilled kitchen. You stand beside the win­dow with the insects on your fin­gers. –more

On a Wednesday morn­ing in the loop that is this world with­out end, Engelbert Humperdinck cuts him­self shav­ing. Above the Adam’s Apple.

I bleed, he says to the mir­ror as the trick­le makes its way to the notch of his neck. Who knew?

The TV voice from –more

When my own grand­moth­er died I went on vaca­tion in Florida. But when your grand­moth­er died I went to her funer­al. I didn’t real­ly know my own grand­moth­er, nor did I know yours that well. But I –more

When I was a lit­tle girl my father took me back
to his home­land, a lit­tle vil­lage in Italy high on
a moun­tain­top called Durazzano. Guarda tutte
le arance! my father said, as we snaked up the
moun­tain in what –more

Into the Whole

During moon­light pond toughens
against freez­ing temperatures
until morn­ing sun caress­es softness
from sur­face, and ducks paddle
paths across slush
like jet streaks span­ning blue sky
until each dis­si­pates into whole.

~

Passenger

Grasshopper clings
to my car’s –more