• Jianqing Zheng ~ Five Poems

    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

  • Marilyn Abildskov ~ Bodies in Transit

    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

  • Wilson Koewing ~ Six Shorts


    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

  • Julian George ~ Three Poems

    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)
    Begging –more

  • Sean Ennis ~ A Feature or a Bug

    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

  • Joyce Schmid ~ Poems

    (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

  • Kevin Grauke ~ Five Poems

    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

  • Beth Hahn ~ Already Later

    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

  • Karen Regen-Tuero ~On the Corner of August and 19th

    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

  • Elizabeth Collison ~ Lydia’s Address Book

    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

  • Alan Rossi ~ Our Last Year


    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

  • Open for submissions July 1, 2022

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

  • NWW Quarterly

    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

  • Elina Katrin ~ Spring Grace

    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

  • Anna Mantzaris ~ Night of the Living

    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

  • Sandra Kolankiewicz ~ Three Poems

    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

  • Richard Weems ~ First Day Back

    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

  • Carolyn R. Russell ~ Alphabet City

    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

  • Cheryl Snell ~ Tracking Time

    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

  • E.N. Walztoni ~ Heart of Ohio

    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