New World Writing Quarterly

I ran by Bob’s grave this morn­ing. He died on September 10th, 2016. He was only thir­ty some­thing. On his grave were some fake flow­ers and a small, stuffed Ninja tur­tle. Raphael, I think. It had red armbands.

Bob lived in the house –more

Before the first date Petra already knows how futile it all is. She is aware of how inad­e­quate she looks, stand­ing half-undressed in the mid­dle of her room, three or four dis­card­ed dress­es at her feet. Last night, unable to –more

Sour Taste

The gay guy from ear­li­er in the year still cruis­ing at the mall, more cir­cum­spect today with his mum attend­ing. Neat, well-dressed, tidy woman retain­ing her looks, uncer­tain whether she knows.

Two small amuse­ments from ear­li­er in the afternoon.

–more

I AM STRANGE

I take the leafy road
in mid­sum­mer,
below a trove of hid­den stars,
drawn by orange light
in the dis­tance,
beyond wheat­fields,
in step with a drag­on­fly,
like the wind’s instru­ment,
head­ing –more

Forget the sleazy store­front agency. I am here. Next to you. Dressed in a fray­ing trench coat with sun­glass­es made from an owl. I am liv­ing in cel­lu­loid. In a piece of black-and-white 16-mil­lime­ter film, cut hard and past­ed –more

In your next life you could be an orchid
or dan­de­lion. Who’s to say who’s bet­ter?
Fragile beau­ty or gold grit? Seriously:
it takes all kinds. Literally: everything

is designed to be what it is, to do
as it does. You can stamp your tat­too
–more

Nameless

Not look­ing for trou­ble, I avoid­ed an encounter with my for­mer friend, who shall remain name­less because nam­ing him would seem too much like con­tact. Taking walks helped clear my head, but see­ing Nameless (NL) on one of my –more

Looking Twice

—Tracy Sweeney’s Rain in Moonlight (oil on wood)

The rain strings a gloomy tune
for the line dance of trees,
the sky beats its heart drum
to silence the croak­ing frogs,
the moon veils her face
behind fleet­ing clouds.

This is a shad­ows­cape
–more

Ristorante

A nine-year-old boy, I want­ed a sir­loin steak at a neigh­bor­hood restau­rant, an Italian place on 4th Avenue in Dayton, Kentucky. The week before, I’d heard some guy at the next table ask for that, a leisure-suit man with –more

After work, I find a head­less man­nequin lying face down in my dri­ve­way. The man­nequin is dressed in a gold tuxe­do and pol­ished, black leather oxfords. A crust of red crys­tal clings to the crag­gy stump of the mannequin’s –more

Rumors to the Contrary

Tired, I was fight­ing with myself, a duel between my good and bad inten­tions. I should have known but I could­n’t pre­dict what my oppo­nent would do next. I found myself in every direc­tion in my kitchen. Where could I run? I had an ordi­nary face, thin –more

The Scitico Water Tower

Looming black beside the rail­road,
the Scitico water tow­er
shad­ed and shield­ed my child­hood
from too much sun and puber­ty.
Dreaming of a rail­road life,
obso­lete before I was born,

kept me pleas­ant­ly infan­tile.
The water –more

On a per­fect sum­mer day in Annecy, France, Valerie rides a bicy­cle down a wind­ing path toward Lake Annecy’s azure waters.

She reach­es a patch of grass by the beach and pulls a baguette from her pack.

A boat pass­es pulling –more

The Sewing Table

It creaks at either end
if you don’t hold on
to it from under­neath
when you move it

and we move it often
around the small kitchen.
Pine plank with engraved
six-inch rulers burned into to it

on both of the long sides
so that the –more

Manuel was up and about before dawn. He’d always start the morn­ing with a cold show­er, a rit­u­al that relieved mus­cle sore­ness from the day pri­or and jolt­ed his motor sens­es for the day ahead. To Manuel, a cold show­er was also a dai­ly test of pain –more

NWWQ sub­mis­sions are closed. We will accept sub­mis­sions again October 1–14, 2023. You will find below almost two dozen intrigu­ing works –more

Mr. Kim takes atten­dance as the kids work on their warm-up: list­ing items for their sur­vival back­packs. The all-fac­ul­ty email had sug­gest­ed col­or­ing sheets as a calm­ing mea­sure, but Mr. Kim had want­ed it to feel like a nor­mal –more

Empty Bucket List

I heard a voice I nev­er saw.
“You’ve only got six months to go, so live.”
While walk­ing on a trash-strewn beach,
regret­ting those squan­dered years,
I built an urgent men­tal spreadsheet.

I liq­ui­dat­ed all my wealth, applied
for twen­ty-sev­en –more

They’d been going out for six months but this was their first trip out of town as a cou­ple, using a week­end of win­ter break to browse Greenville, two hours and change from where they taught col­lege in Atlanta.   Back in –more

Saturday Afternoon, Ansonia

Sixty years ago this win­ter
I am still eight years old, griev­ing
the death of my mother.

The mêlée of chil­dren
teem­ing around me could be
a tableau from a paint­ing by Brueghel.

We are await­ing our turns
on a tobog­gan –more