New World Writing Quarterly

I’m a dec­o­ra­tive throw pil­low, I’m a pair of mem­o­ry foam house slippers

After Eric Scot Tryon

I work the after­noon shift at the TJ Maxx Homegoods. I eat yogurt for break­fast because my last bone den­si­ty test was not good. –more

On the morn­ing the last trans­la­tor died, Meera began to under­stand things she had nev­er been taught to hear.

The ceil­ing fan spoke first. I have been tired for years, it said, not stop­ping. She lay still, watch­ing it turn. The voice was not –more

Poor-peo­ple food is very in right now, Madam says, with­out a trace of self-consciousness.

Just like jowar and bajra, she says. We rarely ate them before.

But now… she doesn’t fin­ish her sen­tence. She is dis­tract­ed by her face in the mirror.

–more

 The Edgewater Beach

They called it the Jewel of Uptown. A slice of roy­al Monaco dropped on Lake Michigan’s hum­ble shore. Pink stuc­co tow­ers. Oak and mar­ble every­where. Frank Sinatra and Bette Davis. Nat King Cole and the –more

Swayed

The hori­zon per­sists: an edge, a mark­er of dis­tance. It’s either dusk or dawn. You choose. The light imma­nent. The shad­ows tip­ping out­ward, rotat­ing. You wait for the present to encroach, not an as event, but as a con­di­tion to be estab­lished. –more

What If Gravity Isn’t a Fundamental Force?

A friend of mine wakes from a coma and for a second
I get con­fused between the spelling of coma and com­ma. Hesitation
is every­where. Now it’s a year lat­er, and I for­get which friend
it –more

My Birthday Card

is a burly, three-legged bear wear­ing a pol­ka par­ty hat. GoldieBear and his Three Legs hope your birth­day’s just right! When it arrives four weeks ear­ly, my first thought is you’re drink­ing again and sim­ply spaced on my date. –more

Sure, I can help you with that. The top sights to see in Marrakesh are the Jemaa el-Fna, Koutobia Mosque, and the old city (Medina). Sure, I can help you with that. –more

–more

All the Christmas lights around town were com­ing down, stars and trees and the blink­ing yel­low strings gone street by street and in the morn­ing I was leav­ing. We came in out of the cold blue and ordered beers and Katie told me what degloved meant in –more

Flyover Girl

A wild onion in a red dress
on the Blue Line, en route

to a par­ty where I wallflowered
in place for three hours, while
the whole room revolved around      me

as I watched my squad
shed mer­maid scales
to become sashimi.

We were non­na­tive –more

People will tell you that anniver­saries are hard, as are the “firsts”—the first Christmas, the first con­cert, the first hol­i­day. You can brace your­self for those. You know they’re coming.

Grief isn’t just in the big things, or the obvi­ous. –more

The Flower Monger

The local news informs me this morn­ing that they found his life­less body curled beneath a mul­ti-col­ored blan­ket of flow­ers lying atop a steam­ing grate out­side the Capitol Building after the cold­est night of the year. Over the years –more

Wherever You Are

A city changes you
after a decade or so, and when
you return, even a year later,
the city’s moved on, changing
new peo­ple in its time,
its place. Very rarely,
a stone mid­night, –more

They were in my mother’s garage, packed into a card­board box and left to the nuclear heat of Florida, the bugs, storms, and humid­i­ty. How long have they been in here? I asked my moth­er, and she said, Must be about two years since he –more

Self-Portrait as the Fool

I’ve got one foot dan­gling off a cliff while the oth­er is drip­ping bells from the ankle. I wear par­ti-col­ored har­le­quins & say the truest thing. Careful, it might be tinged nasty, though no one lis­tens to insights when –more

from Fingerling Lakes

Lab

The Bio teacher’s
stepped out for a cigarette

when Fen recoils
from the tar­nished tray

and says she won’t
dis­sect the fetal pig

This body has been
ren­dered unto the Lord

and we do Him injury
to break its vessel

Sylvia’s unim­pressed
–more

He jumps and sings
with hos­pi­tal alarm
and then leans on my shoulder
as he begs me
to wipe away his tears.

He tries to mouth
the word, pur­ple,
then points to the sun,
as if he wants to prowl
to the end of the rainbow.

He wrecks
the TV, the lights, –more

Polaroid

We’ve gone through the rooms togeth­er, assigned
this keep­sake and that. Who knows what
we’ve missed, or over­looked, what’s lost
or for­got­ten, but at least I found the shoebox
stuffed with old pho­tos. It has some­thing
–more