New World Writing Quarterly

Wearing the hot pink faux fur coat yet receiv­ing com­pli­ments only on the hot pink sequined sneak­ers one intend­ed as mere complement.

Eating a food, the ingre­di­ents of which one can­not iden­ti­fy; it scarce­ly mat­ters if the –more

–more

The weasel under the cock­tail cab­i­net. – Harold Pinter

How queer.

‘The Man from Brazil’ a no-show.
Those cities of the plain in the jun­gle so many cas­tles in Spain.
Dishes pile up. Bills go unpaid. The mas­ter of the house sinks into –more

Private Zoo

The keep­ers and a giraffe have the only keys. No one much comes any­more. Just the Wild Man’s oth­er old friend, the camel. The pub­lic doesn’t even know it’s open.  The grass in back is so tall that your knees –more

The wind rat­tles the trees that envel­op her house deep in the near impen­e­tra­ble woods. It’s her home, but the struc­ture is more like a camp real­ly. She burns wood for heat and fetch­es water from the near­by stream to drink –more

“20 G’s, can you believe?” Mrs. Digby jabbed her fin­ger at her face in a harsh point. The sunglasses—diamond-encrusted with gold trim, lens­es a pink ombré—glinted in the sun, which I swear, up here in the Tops, is can­died. –more

She set the bags on the steps and then sat.  A car passed and then anoth­er, and up the street the sound of kids play­ing car­ried and fad­ed.  The steps were dirty under her skirt, and she told her­self to get up, that she should –more

The pock­et­book is blue, a dark hue more like a chem­i­cal spill than a sky. It has trav­eled with us from one apart­ment to anoth­er, with­stand­ing every rushed exo­dus, every evic­tion. Always we find it nes­tled safe­ly between sweaters –more

I ran into Dawn Reedy at the Big Lots in Beckley. We’d dat­ed when we were teenagers but I hadn’t seen her since high school. I was buy­ing canned pas­ta. I was buy­ing fish sticks and bread. I’d just blown my nose into –more

All Fires

The thrilling sound is qui­et most of the time. The sec­ond sen­tence is work­ing remote­ly. We were togeth­er, in the bath­room, last. You said some­thing. I stepped out of the show­er. I am a man with a soon-to-be ex-wife.

The First Time Buying Beer After You Died

We are –more

My after­noon shift is about to start, and the red-haired assis­tant man­ag­er 15 years old­er than me, with a beer gut the size of a six-month preg­nan­cy under his short-sleeved aqua scu­ba shirt, is ask­ing me, What size are –more

 The house is large.

There are ani­mals and a dam­aged man and curat­ed plants and old floors that bend. There is fur­ni­ture and dust and good light from the south side of Williamsburg.

I clean the house to restore order. The house –more

 WHAT HAPPENED TO YOUR CHARM

and your horni­ness? my friend Shadow’s wife Wanda blurt­ed out dur­ing Thanksgiving din­ner. They had invit­ed me to join them because I was a lone­ly wid­ow­er, but Wanda was talk­ing to her hus­band. –more

NWWQ October 2023 sub­mis­sions are closed. We will accept sub­mis­sions again JANUARY 1–14, 2024. Below you will find the October 2023 issue of NWWQ. We thank all who sub­mit­ted –more

The First Aria

If the oppo­site of dark is light, then what is the
oppo­site of the body? Bleeding down your leg
because you can’t find a tam­pon anywhere?
That one split sec­ond before the music starts?
The fact that once you’ve watched some­one –more

(Translated from Japanese, Zuihitsu means “fol­low­ing the brush.”)

1. My cat’s eyes fol­low the brush. She feels left out, wish­ing her tongue were as wide and deep as the bris­tles I pull across my scalp, and that she could make it reach the length –more

Maybe on a Thursday, maybe tomor­row. You will knock knock knock at the door. I will be afraid to open it, hav­ing grown scarce and wan like I have. I will be afraid of all the things that aren’t love.

I will be in the kitchen. –more

Just Fine

At my annu­al physical,
when the nurse asks me the screen­ing ques­tions, I lie.
No, I am not afraid to go out.
No, I do not feel anxious.
No, I get the same plea­sure from everything
that has ever made me smile.
–more

The Cat That Eats Copper

When Yang Xin’s mom was preg­nant it was
dur­ing the Family Planning Crash-Down Campaign, and she was given
an abor­tion shot.
Yang Xin had a big life, as they said, and
sur­vived. Only she looked curled –more

     J’aimé un cheval – qui était-ce? – Saint-John Perse

The race is run.

The rest of the field is still out there, eat­ing dust.

They’ll be fine, once they get home. A rub down, an apple. Johnny Carson.

Now,

This way,

Beyond –more