Nonfiction | September 01, 1991
This essay is not currently available online.
As I lay out my clothes for the trip to Miami to do a reading from my revently published novel, then on to Puerto Rico to see my mother, I take a close look at my wardrobe–the tailored skirts in basic colors easily coordinated with my silk blouses–I have to smile to myself remembering what my mother had said about my conservative outfits when I visited her the last time–that I looked like the Jehovah’s Witnesses who went from door to door in her pueblo trying to sell ticketrs to heaven to the die-hard Catholics…
If you are a student, faculty member, or staff member at an institution whose library subscribes to Project Muse, you can read this piece and the full archives of the Missouri Review for free. Check this list to see if your library is a Project Muse subscriber.
Want to read more?Subscribe Today
SEE THE ISSUE
Jan 07 2022
Cover Up I did not begin my time in Jerusalem with the desire to be dangerous. I arrived in that most intoxicating, infuriating, enervating, derelict, and sad of cities with
Jan 06 2022
Of Sound Mind and Memory
Of Sound Mind and MemoryOn Wills and Language and Lawyers and Loveby Judith Claire Mitchell PreambleI, _____________, being of sound and disposing mind and memory, hereby declare this to be
Jan 05 2022
Terrorist DocUsing a scalpel, I made incision across the length of the baseball-sized mass in the patient’s upper eyelid. Within seconds, like walking in a dense fog, I was struggling