Fiction | March 02, 2021
Motherland
Isabelle Shifrin
June of that year was particularly hot, even for the high desert of southern Idaho. The sun glared down fiercely, and the cheatgrass on the hills below the basalt rimrocks all turned yellow earlier than usual, barbed heads nodding in the hot wind. The men who visited from the toothpaste branch of Galaxate Home Products said the mint crop should be good, but my father only said maybe. If you got your weeds, fertilizers, and bugs managed by the Fourth of July, then maybe.
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 TodaySEE THE ISSUE
SUGGESTED CONTENT
Editors' Prize Winner
Jun 02 2021
Keeping
Keeping Thomas Dodson It was a humbling thing, asking for help like this, needing it so badly. But removing his hat, brushing flakes of snow from brim and crown, Guy… read more
Fiction
Jun 02 2021
Naming Ceremony
Naming Ceremony Mona Susan Power It’s the spring of 1968 here in Chicago, and Mama says Old Mayor Daley has his big fists wrapped around our necks. She says he… read more
Fiction
Jun 02 2021
The Burning
The Burning Gail Upchurch The burning comes right after and all at once. The irony of calling out for a God you swore off back in high school—the day Shawn… read more