Nonfiction | September 01, 1987
The full text of this essay is currently not available online.
We squatted in a circle on the wet surface of the paramo and took turns drinking from a single glass. The place was high and cold; a thick mist, called “neblina” by the Andean mestizos, made visibility beyond a few meters impossible.
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
10.3 (Fall 1987)
Featuring the work of Nicholas Christopher, Killarney Clary, Theodore Dreiser, Donald Finkel, Maria Flook, Eamon Grennan, Fred Haefele, G. W. Hawkes, John Meredith Hill, Lewis Horne, Lynda Hull, Richard Jackson, Kerry Johanssen, Ken Kalfus, Nina Kennedy, Daryl Lane, Syndey Lea, David Zane Mairowitz, Kevin McIlvoy, Howard Nemerov, Alicia Ostriker, Molly Peacock, Shannon Ravenel, James Ulmer, Bruce Weigl…and an interview with William Gass.
Editors' Prize Winner
Jun 02 2021
Opera House By Robert Stothart Everything seemed married to everything else. —Gustave Baumann, printmaker, Santa Fe Overture A mere 7,918 miles in diameter, Earth, our home together, travels a minuscule
Jun 02 2021
The Valley of Boys
The Valley of Boys Sage Marshall Boys, boys, a valley of boys. We lived in a small town. The snow rose in silent blankets outside the classroom window. It came
Mar 02 2021
A Series of Tubes
Although widely ridiculed for the statement, the late Alaska Senator Ted Stevens was right when he said, “The Internet is a series of tubes.” He was just off by a