New World Writing Quarterly

On the sec­ond floor of a beige stuc­co ding­bat apart­ment com­plex in my Dad’s neigh­bor­hood there’s a win­dow with blue cur­tains. I’m often vis­it­ing my Dad, late­ly. After (or some­times dur­ing) a vis­it I take a walk. The win­dow –more

It is almost Halloween, and the lit­tle girl is in cos­tume as a bal­le­ri­na: a fluffy skirt of pink tulle, a shiny plas­tic tiara on her head, thin slip­per-shoes on her feet. But no tights because the day is unsea­son­ably hot. –more

Last night, I had a dream in which my ex-girl­friend Pamela sent me an esca­lat­ing series of out­ra­geous requests. In her first email, the sub­ject of which was REQUEST, Pamela informed me that she was apply­ing to study alter­na­tive –more

Next to Nothing

A poem is an instant of lucid­i­ty in which the entire
organ­ism par­tic­i­pates.            — Charles Simic

I was just about to under­stand the graph
the sun through the blinds made on my desk,
when a cloud, as –more

Memory of Arms

The neigh­bor’s chim­ney cin­ders the air in a new breed of fall days. I walk through, breathe it in, merge with it. My side of the for­est, bare-limbed and damp.  Beyond the fence, back fields hold the steps of my chil­dren run­ning through, cau­tious of –more

It had not been nec­es­sary to vote for the ghost pres­i­dent. I remem­bered this at odd times, when they seemed more tan­gi­ble. For instance when they were giv­ing a speech on tele­vi­sion and they were less trans­par­ent than usu­al, when you could see the gleam –more

1. Nothing.

2. Just some­thing on my phone, that’s right.

3. Words.

4. What time’s soc­cer practice?

5. Nothing real­ly. It’s just—I need—

6. What if we just step outside?

7. What if we—

8. Let’s sit.

9. Right here.

10. Sit down.

–more

Roy orders the fries. He knows by now that his cheapo friends, Megan, Scott, and Wendy, will eat most of them, so he makes it a dou­ble. He wish­es for once in their god­damn lives they would offer to chip in. Okay, maybe not Megan, who he hopes, like –more

For my sister

They say coy­otes are relat­ed to wolves in fam­i­ly and genus. We have few wolves in Iowa, but a coy­ote can be found at the abun­dance side of every corn row, and behind each stalled trac­tor. One stood in our dri­ve­way a few years back, stared –more

My friend Shadow believes that the boy Franklin is call­ing for his dog, Apple, late at night. I believe this too. The boy Franklin, of course, was last seen in Bramble in 1910, while being dragged away from his family’s –more

Once, I Dreamed a Story That I Forgot to Write Down

It began some­where in the mid­dle. The char­ac­ters were a cou­ple, I think. There was con­fu­sion. And anger, I remem­ber. A death, maybe? Or a dif­fi­cult birth? Perhaps a still­birth? The kind of tragedy that would cause any cou­ple –more

The man sit­ting next to Henry wore an army fatigues jack­et and appeared to be in his late twen­ties. A pack of Marlboro sat on his desk. That was the thing about col­lege, Henry was learn­ing, you could have some­one any age in –more

Sherman’s march to the sea

I walk the streets at mid­night my heart not quite right. My heart like a brown spot on an apple. I see the pur­ple flu­o­res­cent lights of a deliv­ery truck and get excit­ed again. I see the pur­ple flow­ers of the text­book fac­to­ry –more

“What do you want?” Jeff said, his voice sound­ing above, from inside the thir­ty-foot-tall slide tow­er.  Eddie stood on the grass just out­side the play­ground floor, which was cov­ered in mulch. “I’ve dis­cov­ered unopened –more

The pas­tor scrubs her rash. It’s been spread­ing. There’s red under every crook of her. Something in the cas­sock, she thinks. Dry clean it.

She’s in the church house show­er, peek­ing out an eye lev­el win­dow that’s open an inch and vent­ing steam. –more

We don’t know why the nurse who worked in a large urban hos­pi­tal only trav­eled to coun­tries with lousy san­i­ta­tion, pol­lut­ed water and too many peo­ple. She nev­er pro­tect­ed her­self against life-threat­en­ing dis­eases, so when she got sick no one was –more

The dead have their own prob­lems, unable to sep­a­rate one day from anoth­er, call­ing out to some­one who might remem­ber them in anoth­er room, wav­ing a phan­tom arm in greet­ing. I see beyond them. I am hur­ry­ing to the dance hall, with its speck­led bird –more

Intro to Poetry

We find it an awful thing to meet peo­ple
seri­ous or not, who have turned into vacant
effec­tive peo­ple… —William Stafford, “Introduction to Literature”

Look: poet­ry is no line of work for career-
–more

I was 28, and my age is very rel­e­vant to this story.

I had start­ed a rela­tion­ship a few months ear­li­er. It was fun, and it was shiny. I was fulfilled.

I was drink­ing cof­fee, just out­side of Harvard Square. A young man ran by. –more

The Night Before Halloween

Someone left a brand-new plas­tic tiara, secured inside its flim­sy box, perched on the cement bar­ri­er by a gas pump at the BP sta­tion on D Avenue. Someone scooped it from the oily pave­ment before a tire crushed it, placed it here, out of harm’s way, –more