New World Writing Quarterly

The Heart Shows Signs

You’re out of sync, ditsy
in the daisies, where did you think
you were going? —bush­whacked and busy,

the I am, I am, I am of your life … that … steady
rhythm … start… bird star­tled stop …
against your rib … cage –more

ELENTIYA

Sarah Mellinger recent­ly fin­ished her first orches­tral piece, Elentiya, which is sched­uled to be pre­miered by the Cleveland Chamber Symphony this com­ing fall. She is cur­rent­ly work­ing on adding more move­ments to her piece, –more

My Father Playing Needle Nugent

I would have been one years old
and he would have been fifty
when he played Needle Nugent
in Juno and the Paycock for the
Dramatic Society of University
College London, the Foundation
Play of 1960 — dur­ing the sec­ond
–more

A soak­ing tub was need­ed. How long had it been the fluffy white tow­el remain­ing unwashed, six months? a cou­ple years? Remember the last rushed stor­age, think­ing, next time, it can wait. Finally the Viet place in Paisley Street was recalled. Op Shops –more

It is night, and the nation endured anoth­er day of Trump’s slaugh­ter of democ­ra­cy and his takeover of cities with storm troop­ers who are ter­ror­iz­ing pro-democ­ra­cy groups. As much as the guardians of White male his­to­ry try to hide it, state sanc­tioned –more

Jean was one of those women who believed in angels; wore crys­tals around her neck and cut her hair like Enya.

She was born in the south but bore no accent; lived her life in New England, cot­tages near coves and coastlines.

Two mar­riages, nei­ther of them –more

The first time Fred and Gina had sex, he showed her how to make fried rice with red and yel­low pep­pers in a real wok. Fred’s moth­er and sis­ter were on vaca­tion. It was rain­ing out­side, and Gina arrived in a taxi. The food, the rain, the jazz they –more

Pleasantville, New York

Day P             

Since the stay-at-home order we show­er most­ly in the evenings. After tonight’s show­er I put on cologne for the do of it. It’s gone ran­cid. Top notes of rust­ed sled –more

The Horse Fair, poems on the life and art of French ani­maliere Rosa Bonheur (1822–99). Part psy­cho-biog­ra­phy, part spec­u­la­tion and intu­ition, these linked dra­mat­ic mono­logues probe themes of gen­der, class, and artis­tic genius against the back­ground –more

Boxing in a Backyard Ring on a Summer Night

Beckett is younger, the far supe­ri­or fight­er with
every advan­tage in skill, tim­ing, and technique.
A brick­lay­er by trade, his gloved fists are stones,
and his hard, sol­id punch­es rock me –more

I’ve made friends with dust­pans, mops, brooms, buck­ets, box­es, sprayers ’n rags. Finer than the peo­ple upstairs, real­ly. You pass ’em by ’n pray they mind their busi­ness. If not, you got­ta be pre­pared to scrub some god-aban­doned grime, make-pre­tend –more

Like an Interruption

No sig­nal.
Or an echo on the line,
some­one else’s conversation.

Except there is no line anymore,
at least not those icon­ic poles and wires
loop­ing over the black-and-white prairie.

A man holds up his cell phone
to video the –more

The Dog Trainer

Dear Heavenly Holy,
If you are what they say you are, then receive this thanks be, this all praise for the glo­ry of dog who is giv­en unto me, a social dreg caught up behind bars, who is now become sav­ior for this unwant­ed and –more

Lounge

Sheer des­per­a­tion. Bus ride into Lil’ Ind. did not appeal. The uncles and aun­ties were per­fect­ly alright of course, much prefer­able to the smart­ly pol­ished on the trains. But as one slowly/not so slow­ly approached years of sere, you felt a lit­tle.… –more

But My Mother Told Me

You have to know you want it. When I was four we would vis­it a friend of my moth­er’s, a woman who looked like Stevie Nicks. Blonde, curly hair and coal over her lids like a queen, like Cleopatra. –more

55^th Anniversary Collector’s Edition of Original 1962 Super Deluxe Issue No. 2
Title:  The Foreboding Visitation

Cover:  Anxiety Man, cen­tered in illus­tra­tion, one hand col­lar­ing an alien being (green skin, anten­nae), the oth­er hand drawn back in –more

An intro­duc­tion to BluHous Workspace for free (impro­vised) music. Click and listen.

Hold hold on Don’t let go I won’t
His voice wind-swal­lowed in the tunnel
Let you go Don’t stop Look Trust 
My hand in a vise my flim­sy pumps
Navigating left—jolt right—mechanical –more

Before they allowed George to be tak­en to his room, they wand­ed his wrist chip to access his most recent SCAR report.

“He’s nine­ty,” his wife, Lucy, protest­ed, so they wand­ed her too.

Women were less dili­gent­ly patrolled but men and boys over the –more

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