An Update from New South

Hello, readers, contributors, and friends of New South, You may have noticed that we've been particularly quiet in these last few months. While we've been working hard behind the scenes on issue 14.2, we've also been dealing with some financial challenges that have arisen due to some changes to the funding structure of student media...

Micro Prose: Lessons in Intimacy by Afton Montgomery

"In the dark: I catch her hand on the windowlip of one of the panes in my body..."

Micro Prose: How I Discovered the World is Flat by Roger D’Agostin

"I didn’t have a mask or gloves.  Two old Italian women, in thick black shoes, inched in my direction.  I moved back.  That’s when I slipped...."

Review |Ilya Kaminsky’s Deaf Republic

The Loud Prophecy of Deaf Republic by S. T. Brant All books are instructive; the value is in their secret instruction, the teachings the author offers us on second and third readings, when time mingles with reflection, when the text takes on a special aura, as a solar eclipse, a rare presentation of light brought naturally...

Micro Prose: Costumes for a Different Woman by Candice Kelsey

Costumes for a Different Woman "The dresses in my closet are costumes for a different woman, though I hide myself in their silky textures. The man asleep in my bed knows me best in the dark." Linda Pastan  He grows smaller. Somehow he makes this old house feel draftier, like we live in a bank...

Micro Prose: At Auction by Sarah Priscus

At Auction Mrs. Breton’s third-grade class dealt in teeth. Mostly incisors, but canines were coveted most. No one took a shine to molars except Milly. She said they were smoothest, like plaque-covered pearls. The teeth were kept in pencil cases, swapped in calculated exchanges, polished with eyeglasses cloths, and used to practice subtraction. Some kids...

Micro Prose: Limits of the Flesh by Damien Roos

Limits of the Flesh  On fine afternoons, where the sun slips just right through the trees, I imagine being  smashed beneath some dense, massive object. It’s happened, you know. Not to me yet, but to others: in a warehouse where the lift fork slipped, a dockyard where the pulley gave. I make fourteen dollars an hour saying,...

Micro Prose: Overturned by Jenn Blair

Overturned I blame the gallows. I’d wanted to see them ever since I saw that movie and figured it would make a good stop on the drive from Atlanta to Oklahoma City. I was going home for Thanksgiving but also for my Aunt’s funeral—an imperious woman who crocheted tiny pink and blue hats for preemies...

Micro Prose: Collateral by Emily Kingery

Collateral Instead of exchanging actual gifts, we wrote poems about trees.  The metaphors extended like plastic bags about to drop: his tree was naked and praiseworthy and obviously my body in the cold interior of his car; mine was bending under ice in a cemetery I loved, where he decided he loved to park his...

Micro Prose: Crush by R.S. Wynn

Crush Johnny laid flat on the road as we waited for the school bus. I asked, “What’s wrong with him? He’ll get crushed.” My sister said, “Duh, he’s crazy.” Like that, I wanted him, though he was in high school and I was eight, though I hardly knew what wanting meant. Johnny had a sister,...