New World Writing Quarterly

Wakethefuckup:

The road trip, they agree, is a last chance.  They haven’t made love in months, main­ly because he drags him­self in like a sack of lead fish­ing weights and plugs, first thing, into cable news.  Plugs him­self in: brain and –more

Consider a sin­gle cloud—angry and scowl­ing, drift­ing away and bob­bing up and down, almost like it’s in the ocean try­ing to reach the hori­zon, and how dark and mad­dened, by itself amid plains of skies, giv­ing home to avian flocks who pierce through –more

Me and Milton Friedman
_____________________________

There is some­thing more to lot­ter­ies than chance.
For once we’re all qui­et and even equal, each one of us
hold­ing our small receipt of democ­ra­cy, expect­ing with
mag­nan­i­mous faces our num­ber to be called.

Except it’s not, not equal. When I took a –more

Hinterland: A Golden Shovel

Now I am qui­et­ly wait­ing for
the cat­a­stro­phe of my personality
to seem beau­ti­ful again,
and inter­est­ing, and modern.
— Frank O’Hara, “Mayakovsky”

1

After months of iso­la­tion, I won­der who it is I see now
when, at the win­dow, I
stare –more

I bought a book. Books are good. Amazon sent it to my house. That was nice. I read my book. I liked it. I want­ed to tell the world about my read­ing expe­ri­ence. Amazon let me review my book. That was nice. I typed my review, and Amazon flashed me a –more

Sullen

Patterns of silence in pri­vate, sup­pressed whelps, dead air. A woman curled into a ball at the top of the stairs, weep­ing, apoplec­tic. A few months ear­li­er, there were two para­keets that freely flew through every room in the house. This isn’t a metaphor –more

I’ve joined the work­force for three rea­sons: 1) the new min­is­ter of music at church is giv­ing voice lessons for $8 a pop, 2) Mama and Daddy don’t have the mon­ey, and 3) free cookies.

I start on prep because I’m “too scrawny to work the counter.” –more

1.

Rid e on bu s
thr ough streets
of sno w

Pas the
Magneto sphere
Giant

Ball of elec­tri city
Pulling busted
cars

Up wards in to
A field of force
crumbling

Drop ed into
the maw
of a furnace

Then

In a blink
The bus
Moves on

Down South St
reet and
past

Fitler Square
–more

Jennifer did not go by Jen, and she cer­tain­ly did not answer to Jenny.  Her name was like her face, a sen­si­ble orga­ni­za­tion of set, or fixed, shapes.  Her name was not a hair­cut, a style, some part of her­self that, for wed­ding or whim, could be cut, –more

Genevieve’s liv­er wan­dered at night, nev­er far, just down the road, into this house or that, crawl­ing through a win­dow or down a chim­ney, nib­bling on whomev­er, on Sarah Cunningham after her ass­hole ter­ri­er tore up the rhodo­den­drons, on Amy Vanderwall –more

My name was Wilter. I worked in sales. Ceramics, earth­en­ware, minaret lanterns. We sold tiles in rusty ocean, sil­ver oat, under­sto­ry, these were our colours. There was no pres­sure, tar­gets, account­abil­i­ty, and every month-end I was up for –more

Birthday

I was going to have Michelangelo’s bake you a huge cas­sa­ta birth­day cake with mul­ti­ple tiers, and hol­lowed out in the mid­dle so I could jump out and sur­prise you, but then I asked myself—am I what you would choose to have pop out of a cake? Might –more

They heard about the retreat cen­ter from a friend of a friend. They heard about it from an ex-cowork­er, an ex-lover, an ex-in-law. They liked the pho­tos on the web­site. They imag­ined them­selves sit­ting on the pret­ty lit­tle bench in the pret­ty lit­tle –more

The birds here sound like alarm clocks from the 1970s. I’m watch­ing two in particular—five if you count babies who sound more like key fobs. A Steller’s Jay har­ries a small­er bird guard­ing a nest. The Steller’s Jay crash­es through fir fronds, –more

Interview with Ruby from “Soft White Underbelly” on YouTube.

The Word Problem Effect

When a rain­drop begins to descend from the height of one mile over York, Pennsylvania, it is four o’clock in the after­noon. The drop is gray blue, par­tial­ly magen­ta. At the same time in Lexington, Kentucky, train A leaves the sta­tion head­ing west. –more

PABLO NERUDA

Our tongues ring
like bells, your
fin­gers groan up
the back of my
neck.

We fill this
space with a
lot of things

like

your point­ed feet
the bridge of your mouth
for­tune cookies

the way I escape
death each
time.

~

PATROL

I found you cry­ing in a –more

This sto­ry is inspired by and named for the daugh­ters of Amanda Stanton, Minor Star of Bachelor Nation, Year 2016

1

Our names are Kinsley and Charlie. We are wait­ing for our moth­er to come home.

In Los Angeles, in a man­sion, our moth­er is falling in love –more

What baby wants

We got him a rock­ing horse but our baby com­plained it was made of wood and it wasn’t very nice for the tree, and we tried to explain how one thing always dis­places anoth­er, but our baby was hav­ing none of it. He lay in my wife’s arms, a tiny frown –more