New World Writing Quarterly

Ode to Night

Coldness plas­ters
my hut
with thick snow

I quiver in bed
like a fish
caught and thrown

on the ice
to flop
in des­per­ate throes.

~

The Gradation of Our Being

Day by day we wait to see
seeds sprout into a fuzzy green

and grow for a good harvest.
We have nev­er felt

the land has grown –more

You have not yet recov­ered from jet lag when your neigh­bors in teach­ers’ hous­ing throw you a wel­come par­ty. You and two oth­er Americans just arrived to teach English here. After drink­ing, one of your neigh­bors presents each –more

Gray

There is no gray, at least that I’ve wit­nessed, more depress­ing than the sky on those short win­ter days in the south where the sun nev­er ful­ly comes out. In Ireland, in the sum­mer, it can be a ter­ri­ble gray for days, but –more

Ashes to Ashes

                     For AJY

I want you.

I want you
In your hip­pie vibe
In your mar­i­jua­na haze
In your tie-dye flat
Shimmying like my sis­ter Kate
(I wish I could shim­my like my sis­ter Kate)
Before
Begging –more

Grace direct­ed me at dawn to get donuts, and it’s like every­one got laid last night, say­ing, “Good morn­ing,” and walk­ing their dogs.  Ah, to be loved, to be learned, to be lurk­ing about. The donuts are so unnecessary–I –more

(Speaking for WS Merwin)

The date of my death
turned out to be the Ides of March
Paula no longer with me
to insist I stay at home
not there to warn me lions were being born
and ghosts were shriek­ing in the streets
and sim­ple skies were catch­ing fire

I was too blind by then
–more

John Cheever’s Cameo in The Swimmer (29:33–29:39)

Incognito at the pool­side party,
the gin-soaked wreck steps for­ward to greet you,
his hearty and hale son. A dry kiss
on your date’s cheek is all the frag­ile fool
can man­age before you steer her away to chase
more sun –more

The women who took shifts car­ing for Margaret wore tulip-pink scrubs, cardi­gans, and round-toed shoes that squeaked on the pol­ished floors beyond her room.

“How are you today Mrs.—” they asked, glanc­ing at the white board.

Margaret could see her –more

I was on my way to the office one morn­ing, walk­ing up August Avenue, wear­ing my gray suit cut so nar­row I had to take short steps. With my pais­ley silk scarf tied in a bow, I sup­pose I looked like any oth­er bank man­ag­er in the city. I –more

Sometimes these days when I first awake, when the room is still dark and shad­owy, I find I do not always know where I am. I try not to let this both­er me. The home is still new, my lit­tle cell here is new. Not remem­ber­ing –more

Fall

In the kitchen some­time before sev­en in the morn­ing, after wak­ing before sun­rise to the fig­ure of his three-year-old-daugh­ter, their youngest daugh­ter, pulling him out of bed by grab­bing his arm and say­ing, pull, pull, pull, –more

NWW will be open for sub­mis­sions July 1–14. Please see our sub­mis­sions link above for details.

Dear Readers and Writers:

Effective today New World Writing becomes an online quar­ter­ly. We will be pub­lish­ing four issues year­ly, accept­ing sub­mis­sions always, but –more

Born to a Syrian father and a Russian moth­er in St. Petersburg, Russia, Elina Katrin cur­rent­ly resides in Appalachia. She holds an MFA in Creative Writing from Hollins University, and her poet­ry has appeared or is forth­com­ing in –more

I once con­sumed 33 turkey legs in an evening. I was an extra, one of the flesh-eat­ing zom­bies, in the 1968 ver­sion of Night of the Living Dead. The cam­era pans in from a hill­side and there I am, gnaw­ing on what is sup­pos­ed­ly a human limb. Throughout –more

LiLi Fre on Tears

She doesn’t care the man she turned down for
being so self absorbed is now famous.
What she remem­bers is he brought himself
to tears, think­ing if he cried, she’d give in.
He chased her hair and ass and the little
scar –more

In the last moments before wak­ing, Keli was a tour guide at a sheep-shear­ing plant. During a shear­ing demon­stra­tion for sev­er­al fam­i­lies, the adults broke away to tin­ker with a row of rust­ed back­hoes. Keli knew she’d get –more

I had just arrived in Manhattan and was still wary of the sub­way, espe­cial­ly ones that scur­ried under­ground beneath myth­ic neigh­bor­hoods that I didn’t know, couldn’t imag­ine; I wasn’t only new in town, but had nev­er –more

So the oli­garchs want their own space race? The old, when young, were actu­al pio­neers. They came from every­where to set­tle new land and some­times they got lost. My own great- grand­par­ents once plant­ed the American flag on –more

I looked into the sun that came through the glass door of the Beauty House and did not think about any truth while I wait­ed for my grandmother’s perm to set. No one made small talk with me in the plas­tic wait­ing chairs. –more