New World Writing Quarterly

Reprinted from Blip Magazine Archive Vol 13 No 4

I’m at my cousin’s house, watch­ing her fix din­ner for her twins, who are try­ing to toss them­selves out of their high­chairs. When I take care of them, my only goal is to keep them alive but I don’t –more

Samo je Početak

Already there is a man
in my mouth waiting
to lay eggs in

Me, the Kink

Once again with the recur­ring dream where I am on an air­plane that lands on a busy city street and just dri­ves around, wings and all.  I have no insight into its mean­ing, except to say “anx­i­ety,” which, in my expe­ri­ence, is the source of all. –more

Reprinted from NWW, Summer 2012

The week fol­low­ing his 60th birth­day, John Santo board­ed a train at Stuttgart, Germany. He was trav­el­ing alone. It was evening—the cold slapped the win­dow that pressed his cheek. The train jerked along and the side –more

Question:

If you run into the wife of the man you had an affair with, what do you say to her?

Do you say:
a) I am sor­ry fucked your hus­band, that was a real­ly dumb thing for me to do.
b) If it makes you feel bet­ter, it all came back around –more

Nonfiction

The Real Thing

A few days ago the Chinese con­vert, cab­bie Cha, more than a lit­tle tedious with his long drawn-out sto­ries from one of the less rep­utable hadiths it may have been involv­ing talk­ing she-camels what­not. Totally igno­rant of pace and –more

My Mother’s Song & Dance

The pho­to, creased & torn, fad­ed, tells the story
of my moth­er who sits on the porch steps,
one of the babies on her lap.

She’s wear­ing red wedge san­dals, a flow­ery cotton
house dress & an apron (she nev­er wore pants).
Behind her, –more

Waterside Theatre

Having washed up in London – the East End,
maybe, some­where between the ancient City
and the Thames at any rate – I became fixated
on cer­tain details that described the state
of the whole place, and my rela­tion­ship to it.

Take maps of the under­ground; –more

The day had no end. Her bed was a uni­verse engulfed with many oceans and com­bat­ive tidal flows. She could swim, prac­tice breath­ing or just float.

K. opened her eyes and noticed the strong sun­light in the room. She didn’t want to open the cur­tains –more

My grand­moth­er is made from feath­ers, pho­to clip­pings and pet­ri­fied wood. Keeps a cac­tus in my aunt’s house, bleeds dust in the door. My grand­moth­er buried, she walks on all fours, long claws obscured in sand and in salt. Sharp paint­ed frag­ments –more

Cane Hung

Wooden cane hung
on wood­en fence –
old man had to blow
his nose, needed
two hands for the job.
If he crooked his cane
across his elbow,
it would tumble
to the ground, dis­tant ground
where he’d –more

I left the front door to dis­cov­er what end­ed up being a 1944 John Deere B trac­tor parked in the grav­el dri­ve­way. Not that I’m a trac­tor guy. I’m not a farm imple­ment, –more

She used her old Brownie cam­era on us. Something was won­der­ful that I didn’t under­stand. The cam­era had been in her fam­i­ly since the 1930s. I’d nev­er seen my moth­er look com­fort­able with com­pli­cat­ed con­trap­tions. But that day she had per­fect –more

Did I ever tell you about the time I did mush­rooms at Disney World? It was actu­al­ly pret­ty bor­ing. Alex is exam­in­ing his nail beds under a curl of cig­a­rette smoke. It’s easy to play­act matu­ri­ty out here as the day seeps beneath –more

“It ain’t what they call you; it’s what you answer to.” ― W.C. Fields

We might deny it, but most of us don’t like who we are. Maybe we pre­tend we’re some­one else. Maybe we don’t know, or, maybe we just don’t care.  Take me for instance. –more

Pistol

Guy usu­al­ly gave the big “Nigerian” Tamil pra­ta-mak­er at Har Yasin a lit­tle rab­bit-chop­ping mas­sage when he came in for take-out. Two-three minute vig­or­ous ham­mer made the fel­low gri­mace, but easy to tell he was the bet­ter for it. –more

If you haven’t watched this on YouTube, you should start now. Wonderful hour on the streets of Varanasi, India. Beautifully detailed doc­u­men­tary, and the film­mak­er has many these on YouTube. Has his own chan­nel called keezi walks. Absolutely thrilling. –more

Nonfiction
Rain pelt­ed the win­dow as I sipped my man­go smooth­ie, feel­ing home­sick for Seattle, where the skies are always gray and rainy.

Seattle tap water is deli­cious. It tastes best if you forego a cup and drink straight from the faucet. I drink –more

This mag­ic moment is made for democ­ra­cy. It gave White America anoth­er chance to do right by Black women and legit­imize their claim of democ­ra­cy. Additionally I would be remiss if I failed to acknowl­edge that this is a tran­scen­dent moment that hon­ors –more