New World Writing Quarterly

October 2024 sub­mis­sions close 10/14/24. We will next accept sub­mis­sions January 1–14, 2025. We do not accept sub­mis­sions between issues. Thanks to all who sub­mit­ted to this issue and spe­cial thanks to our Senior edi­tors –more

Let me tell you, it helps to keel over unex­pect­ed­ly when in your mid-50s on a sun­ny morn­ing in June. Catch every­body by sur­prise–“Aurora? God, no!” But while folks are stunned, hushed and grace­ful in pay­ing –more

The bar was just off the frontage road, out front of the dog track and next door to a dive motel. It was a cin­der-block build­ing that struck any­one who saw it as that rare exam­ple of archi­tec­tur­al intent: the above-ground –more

I remem­ber search­ing for the near­est trash bin in the Whole Foods park­ing garage, wor­ry­ing that the over­priced kom­bucha might come back up on my bleach-stained leg­gings and rat­ty sweat­shirt. His room­mate looked the same, tall, –more

Finally, after a full year of col­lege on cam­pus his junior year, Gerald came home to find out that his par­ents secured him a job work­ing for his uncle Leo, a wealthy man who’d oper­at­ed a small engine repair shop for thir­ty years—Gerald’s –more

     It is noth­ing to me who runs the Dive.
     Let’s have a look at anoth­er five.
           –Robert Frost in Dive’s Dive

My grand­ma taught me.
She wasn’t some namby-pamby
who’d let her grand­son win
to build his self-esteem.

Nah. –more

IT’S ONLY A QUEEN-SIZED BED

It’s only a queen-sized bed and I’m sleep­ing on the right-hand ledge because you broke your wrist when you fell with your arm out­stretched on the con­crete skirt of our neighbor’s pool and it rests in a splint on a –more

I’m sor­ry if this poem hurts
and here is a piece of ster­ile gauze

to bite down on
if it caus­es pain.

You say, by email, that Miriam’s son
came through his surgery fine

though there were a few hours after that
his pain meds did not kick in.

He’s in –more

Spolia

What remains for me: your books, war
relics, and pho­to albums.

With your books, you were quiet.
Trawling their depths
for under­lined pas­sages, marginalia,
I found only the cold
Victorian inscrip­tion from your father:

Many of my sen­ti­ments are –more

My cousin Sid Morrow told me he’d wok­en up, just yes­ter­day, from a dream that showed him how to get into a triple-locked box with­out ever open­ing it. To con­vince me, Sid said that he’d bought a crate, locked it, tied rope –more

They taught me the col­ors of the enemy

They taught me the col­ors of the enemy.
On a map they are red, and we are black.
Our uni­forms, of course, were camouflaged,
some­times the mixed col­ors of a forest,
some­times the mixed col­ors –more

24.

The world has gone dark. No one reach­ing out to me from out­side the sphere or the great beyond. Just silence. I check the anten­nae and satel­lites. I check all the wires. Everything seems more or less in line with how it –more

Poem Following a Line from Philip Larkin

On the day of the explo­sion, cows
kept chew­ing and we went to work,
cough­ing out dis­may in pro­sa­ic bursts
and scrolling news, weigh­ing the chance
of an ear­ly win­ter. On the morn­ing
–more

Six hours alto­geth­er. Rp300k taxi fare; 10k was return on the train.

We had cho­sen the date bad­ly. Muslim New Year and a long week­end meant a queue at the sta­tion tick­et-office, seats sold out. The stand­ing option was declined; –more

1. More Days Than Nights

 Tiresias sits alone chew­ing gum like Lolita. Her dog, Little St. James, sleeps on her lap. Even though her implants are hurt­ing, she sol­diers on and will tease the dis­as­ter out of the moment.  The oth­er pas­sen­gers have –more

Treasures

You are eight when on a vis­it to your father’s aunt you see beau­ti­ful things. Great Aunt lives alone in a tiny red cab­in on the edge of a small town. Before her hus­band died, he built shelves through­out to dis­play –more

We would come to blows we got so bored. On bulk pick­up day, we rum­maged the tree lawns and the alleys. We plucked a water­logged gui­tar. It had two rust­ed strings that broke. We snapped them against our wrists until we broke –more

1

Outside the kitchen win­dow, the wind is whip­ping, jostling the tree branch­es with a vig­or I haven’t seen for a while. So of course I have to stop wash­ing the dish­es and dri­ve to the hill­top park.

Standing on the grassy peak, I avail –more

Roundabout

Mike looks at me like I make him sick. I may have done some­thing to make him mad, but I can’t remem­ber what. Maybe I did and maybe I didn’t, or maybe he wants me to believe I deserve to be scorned with his eyes. –more