Nonfiction | October 30, 2018
You instantly wake. Sit up in immediate terror to a tiny swirling couple in spectator brogues kicking the inside walls of your heart to a frantic big-band beat that undeniably is not normal. This is an immediate betrayal of every constant you have known to be true. You get out of bed and check your pulse. It is so fast you can’t count it.
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
Nov 08 2019
On Chickens, Children, and Fascism
Before I got baby chicks, I attended chicken class at Wardell’s Feed and Pet, a few miles down the highway. Eric, the chicken class teacher, sold me a brooder. If
Nov 08 2019
Nobody Goes to the Gulag Anymore
At least not in the Czech Republic. But it’s the first thing I need to see. So I take the train from Prague to Pribram, fifty miles to the south.
Aug 05 2019
For all too short a time we were blissfully at one with a white world, one that wasn’t “other” when it fell upon us, for it was, in fact, a