NWWQ April 2024 submissions close 4/14/24. We will next accept submissions July 1–14, 2024. Note that we do not accept submissions between issues. We thank all who submitted to this
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NEW WORLD WRITING QUARTERLY ~ APRIL 2024
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Terese Svoboda ~ Accordion
The clown sang from a kitchen chair she moved in front of our pitiful waterfall, a rivulet, not a river, and shoved air into her accordion in whining accompaniment. O‑ee, she sang, or something in French, her not-native language but one she affected
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Jessy Easton ~ We Didn’t Always Live in the Mojave
Before the Mojave, when the uniform people came to take Mom and Dad away, we lived in a different kind of desert—still in the California no one thinks about when they think of California. Everyone called this desert SB,
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Joshua Hebburn ~ A Mental Exercise
There’s a girl out walking her dog. I’m out walking myself. I live in the suburbs at the foot of the San Gabriels. I don’t recognize her. She’s not one of the usuals. I don’t see many people when I walk. She’s
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Addison Zeller ~ Garden of the Gods
When I moved back home I had nothing to do, nobody to see, nowhere to go. In the apartment over mine someone vacuumed at night. At first I thought it was an insect that lived between the floors, but there was no sense in that,
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Mark Budman ~ In Memoriam
(A short story suite)
- Except for Love
When I WhatsApped my mother earlier today, she did something she hadn’t done for years, ever since the onset of her dementia. She was trying to recite a poem. This poem was older than even her ninety-three
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Edward Miller ~ Throwback 70s
The last time they’d investigated one of these it had ended well enough, the officers discovering that the elderly occupant wasn’t dead at all but instead had run off to a bunco tournament with a hairdresser
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Robert Scotellaro ~ Carnivorous Roads
Cannon Fire
My father’s wise words swung through the air like claw hammers hoping they might find a nail, might build something. I kept out of the way of all that startled air, always hoping for “misses.” My mother’s
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Ruth A. Rouff ~ Eleanore Dumont (aka Madame Moustache)
In 1848, when gold was discovered at
Sutter’s Mill in the foothills of the Sierra
Nevada, that fact attracted thousands
seeking to separate miners from their
nuggets: a more cerebral type of sifting.Petite Eleanore Dumont, whose origins
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Bethany Pope ~ Three Poems
Children’s Game
I wanted to write about our trip to Paris:
Seventy-two hours, without sleep — unless
you count passing out in the Louvre,
against The Borghese Vase, until a guard
nudged us awake with the toe of his well-polished -
Francine Witte ~ Plate Spinner
I was probably eleven when my father started spinning plates. He’d been watching The Ed Sullivan Show and in between Petula Clark and Sergio Franchi, there was a man, all tuxed-up, spinning fifteen plates, five
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Pamela Painter ~ When Flashers Meet
I peer up and down the cereal aisle at Piggly Wiggly to make sure I’m alone. Then I lift down the oblong box of Corn Flakes and tuck its noisy contents deep inside the pocket of my late husband’s trench coat.
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Angela Townsend ~The Veteran
The first time you go to the hospital, there is much to learn. I don’t mean how to knock the bubbles out of your insulin syringe, although this is useful information.
I mean the definition of “grits,” a giggly noun that
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Sean Lovelace ~ Birds of the Americas: The American Robin (Turdus migratorius)
Notes: Most people do not know how to tell the difference between the male and female robin. The female has a black head. Think of something so black your foot might be sucked into its void, like oil or oily
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Julie Benesh ~ Trois Rochambeaux
“…pretend you’re a bartender in the tavern of life. “ – James McBride, Guernica
I. Natural Causes
Accident, Suicide, and Murder walk into a bar. The bartender says: hey, you look familiar. Especially, you, gesturing at
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Julie Fisher ~ Hogweed and Other Poems
Hogweed
His unbuckling of belt
Her buckling of knees
Buckles around my horse’s girth
His clever bloat
The slow slip of saddle
that sometimes topples me
How easy I fall
to land in a field among
lace of -
Wendy Elizabeth Wallace ~ Round Trip
Ever since she left her husband, Kit has been riding the train. She gets on at the station down the street from the one-bedroom she can’t really afford, in the direction of New York City. The train is already quite full
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Andrew Siegrist ~ Tracks
We waited for the trains. The stolen matches we struck burned out across the tracks. Our father packed sleeves of crackers in a plastic bag and told us to come home in the morning. Mother was away again. This time, maybe Memphis.
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Mary Grimm ~ When He Died
They kept the circumstances of his dying to themselves: what he said and what he did. The way the nurses looked at each other. The way the antiseptic air hung heavy in the room. Who was closest when they gathered in a circle
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Bryan D. Price ~ The Conquest of New Spain
He was hungry for news. It was cold and he was reading Wittgenstein. Wondering if a weed was a tree. If all houses were houses. If he, in fact, was himself. Some people had been avoiding him. Refusing his entreaties. Leaving