• Gerard Sarnat ~ Over My Stoned Cold

    1. 77‑Y.O’s New [Perhaps Clichéd] Organizing Principle

    Life’s entropy
    Making trek
    Higher up into
    Where near air gets

  • Kyle Seibel ~ Cullen

    As a defen­sive mea­sure, Cullen had taped garbage bags to his win­dows. Black ones. Double lay­ered. He’d been awake since Tuesday. Hadn’t left the house since Friday.

    He told me all this in a calm voice. Maybe a lit­tle amused –more

  • Robert L. Penick ~ Three Poems

    After the Plague

    Dandelions rock­et­ed up
    from side­walk cracks,
    joy­ous, unrestrained,
    seeds of sun­light in
    fields of quiet.

    And the fish multiplied
    expo­nen­tial­ly, like
    God promised in some
    irra­tional book
    of ancient fiction.



    A mes­sage for the horse-faced boys and girls

  • Marisa Cadena ~ My Guardian Angel

    I missed the bus to Tapachula by 15 min­utes. There wouldn’t be anoth­er until the fol­low­ing morn­ing, the robot­ic woman at the tick­et counter told me. I was try­ing to cross before dark, remem­ber­ing the fright­en­ing scene at –more

  • Robert Shapard ~ Best Boy

    I was just off my valet shift, 3 a.m., and I’d gone to a pan­cake house. This was in L.A., forty years ago. An old man land­ed in my booth, ka-thud.

    He was one of the most famous movie actors of all time.

    I didnt –more

  • Curtis Smith ~ This Heart

    A boy loved a girl, and when he could no longer live with his secret, he reached into his chest and pulled out his heart. The task wasn’t easy, the crack of bone, the cleav­ing of meat and ten­dons. The heart lay in his hands, –more

  • Kelle Groom ~ Micro-Stories


    It’s a zoo with­out obvi­ous cages, the ani­mals run­ning wild. People warned to stay in their cars, keep the win­dows up. But the lions are sleepy – one falls like a sack in the grass. It’s the ante­lope who watch us through –more

  • Three Pieces — Glen Pourciau


    On a brisk, windy Friday night I’m stand­ing out­side a resort hotel’s entrance where Betsy and I have just had din­ner, wait­ing for the valet to bring our car around, Betsy inside away from the wind, all three lanes jammed –more

  • NWWQ — October 2022

    NWWQ invites sub­mis­sions in the first two weeks of Jan, April, July and October and pub­lish­es in those same months.

    Many thanks to all who sub­mit­ted to the October issue.

  • Claire Hopple ~ Keep it Together

    We watch some­thing burn until we notice it’s our apart­ment. It’s where we’ve been liv­ing for the past few hours. Fortunately that means most of our stuff is still boxed up in the truck. No skin off our backs. We’re out on the sidewalk.


  • Ryan Griffith ~ 24 Hour Elevator

    To break down is what we’re designed for. Lungs, lan­guage, ele­va­tors. A per­son can only climb sev­en floors before they grow old, before extinc­tion, and it’s me they call. Shaman, doc­tor, repair man. An ele­va­tor is a machine –more

  • Carrie Bartsch ~ Bird Dog

    Randall Morgan pre­ferred to sit in the back row, whether it be
    in air­planes, cars, even the mega-whop­per-dare­dev­il roller coast­er at the
    Little Heaven amuse­ment park.  He was a cool play­er, didn’t say much,

  • Wilson Koewing ~ Seven Shorts

    Truck Stop

    We were dri­ving across coun­try back to Denver and lost Odie’s leash. He need­ed to go for a walk and was young then and would run off. I pulled over at a Love’s Truck Stop in the mid­dle of nowhere Kansas think­ing they might –more

  • Joshua Hebburn ~ Bob

    We had spent many hours watch­ing peo­ple talk on the T.V.

    Well, Joan said. So we drove back.

    The hills were down to the earth. Each was a bare dirt heap, or a com­pli­cat­ed geo­log­i­cal jut.

    The trees—which we had known and liked –more

  • Kenton K. Yee ~ Six Poems


    The meat in the pool—
    The rodent pecks the cat—
    The cat bleeds the bird—
    The bird drinks the dew—

    We’ve all seen this episode before.
    The cook­ie is red, the cook­ie is blue.

    The meat is actu­al­ly bread.
    The bread’s beet red.
    Red –more

  • Maya McOmie ~ Four Poems


    If you speak of me, I’ll be sneez­ing. The devil
    is spo­ken for, and so am I. Each gos­sip, each
    rumor: if only it were true. Usually no one
    cares enough about me to say any­thing, kind
    or cru­el. Since I sneeze so many times in –more

  • Julie Esther Fisher ~ Gargoyle

    English, cock­ney at that, the squadron of chil­dren are killers with their for­eign tongues. A new school for the American… At sev­en, she under­stands scarce­ly a word of what they say.

    The man in the black suit is her father. –more

  • Stephen Barile ~Three Poems


    a four-sto­ry brick hotel
    at 90 Alexander Street in Gastown,
    the orig­i­nal settlement
    and old­est part of the city,
    close to the Port of Vancouver,
    was built in 1905
    to serve the itin­er­ant male pop­u­la­tions

  • Jack Buck ~ Temporary self-directed activities

    Went down the Colorado River, got out and camped along the way. A two-per­son tent for the group wasn’t large enough, so instead, we stored all our belong­ings inside the tent, elect­ing to sleep out under the stars. Our bod­ies –more

  • Mike Andrelczyk ~ The Laundry Room

    It was a slow day at the hotel. I kept check­ing my walkie-talkie to make sure it was on. I went down to the laun­dry room.

    What’s up Mr. Moneybags,” Olivia said. She thought it was fucked up I got tips for doing a job –more