New World Writing Quarterly

1. Pearly White

Bu M. was a fair way out­ta the usu­al pro­file. But this was Indonesia of course. The first morn­ing she rocked up 20 mins. late on the back of a motor­cy­cle, explain­ing lat­er she was delayed hav­ing brekkie with her hub­bie. –more

Poultry Mystery

Within a few weeks of his return from Viet Nam, Butchie’s old­er broth­er gets a job as a heavy equip­ment oper­a­tor and a girl­friend, in that order. Jack enlist­ed to avoid an assault con­vic­tion and says this is more luck than he’s had in his life. –more

–more

Not in Redwood Country

this is sycamore country
cot­ton­wood country
the coun­try of waxwing bands trilling in privets
the coun­try of parks with bag dispensers
to pick up shit next to tents and herds of goats and a mech­a­nized army
of bench­es hon­or­ing –more

I was angry and sad and sick of my shit­ty life that was noth­ing but sleep and YouTube and work­ing the overnight shift in a refrig­er­at­ed ware­house, so I formed a one man noise met­al band and built a stu­dio in the base­ment of my house. Using my vast –more

Just before noon she hears Raymond, the painter, call­ing from the bed­room. Come here, please, mis­sus, he says.

She finds him stand­ing on a lad­der in the mid­dle of the room. He has spread tar­pau­lins over the floor and moved the bed and oth­er fur­ni­ture –more

Albadaroh.

What do her friends call her? Alba?

— Alba can. Daroh can. Up to them.

More than ser­vice­able English unex­pect­ed, learnt from her hus­band. Not a busi­ness type; psy­chol­o­gy major, Malaysian with PR. His sec­ond wife. –more

5/25/22

Johnny Depp denies he ever threw Kate Moss down the stairs or hit her par­ents give DNA swabs to help iden­ti­fy chil­dren shot by Texas gun­man Khloe Kardashian offend­ed by rumors she had 12 face trans­plants I’ve had only –more

Occupation: self-care and waste man­age­ment. No
des­tiny to ful­fill. Produce noth­ing but feces and fur.
Work from home naked. Have a live-in with thumbs
who hunts, grooms, sleeps with me, though she keeps
strange hours and has –more

For Robert F. Simon

When I pay $7.99 to down­load a 1966 driver’s ed scare film I was shown in the sum­mer of 1984—The Third Killer, pro­duced by the Ohio State Highway Patrol and some­how star­ring Robert F. Simon, a char­ac­ter actor who played Willie Loman on –more

Ode to Night

Coldness plas­ters
my hut
with thick snow

I quiver in bed
like a fish
caught and thrown

on the ice
to flop
in des­per­ate throes.

~

The Gradation of Our Being

Day by day we wait to see
seeds sprout into a fuzzy green

and grow for a good harvest.
We have nev­er felt

the land has grown –more

You have not yet recov­ered from jet lag when your neigh­bors in teach­ers’ hous­ing throw you a wel­come par­ty. You and two oth­er Americans just arrived to teach English here. After drink­ing, one of your neigh­bors presents each –more

Gray

There is no gray, at least that I’ve wit­nessed, more depress­ing than the sky on those short win­ter days in the south where the sun nev­er ful­ly comes out. In Ireland, in the sum­mer, it can be a ter­ri­ble gray for days, but –more

Ashes to Ashes

                     For AJY

I want you.

I want you
In your hip­pie vibe
In your mar­i­jua­na haze
In your tie-dye flat
Shimmying like my sis­ter Kate
(I wish I could shim­my like my sis­ter Kate)
Before
Begging –more

Grace direct­ed me at dawn to get donuts, and it’s like every­one got laid last night, say­ing, “Good morn­ing,” and walk­ing their dogs.  Ah, to be loved, to be learned, to be lurk­ing about. The donuts are so unnecessary–I –more

(Speaking for WS Merwin)

The date of my death
turned out to be the Ides of March
Paula no longer with me
to insist I stay at home
not there to warn me lions were being born
and ghosts were shriek­ing in the streets
and sim­ple skies were catch­ing fire

I was too blind by then
–more

John Cheever’s Cameo in The Swimmer (29:33–29:39)

Incognito at the pool­side party,
the gin-soaked wreck steps for­ward to greet you,
his hearty and hale son. A dry kiss
on your date’s cheek is all the frag­ile fool
can man­age before you steer her away to chase
more sun –more

The women who took shifts car­ing for Margaret wore tulip-pink scrubs, cardi­gans, and round-toed shoes that squeaked on the pol­ished floors beyond her room.

“How are you today Mrs.—” they asked, glanc­ing at the white board.

Margaret could see her –more

I was on my way to the office one morn­ing, walk­ing up August Avenue, wear­ing my gray suit cut so nar­row I had to take short steps. With my pais­ley silk scarf tied in a bow, I sup­pose I looked like any oth­er bank man­ag­er in the city. I –more

Sometimes these days when I first awake, when the room is still dark and shad­owy, I find I do not always know where I am. I try not to let this both­er me. The home is still new, my lit­tle cell here is new. Not remem­ber­ing –more