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

Fiction
Mar 02 2021
The World As It Is
I am someone who tries to live his life diplomatically. It’s a style I first adopted on the playgrounds and schoolyards of Ammendale, Maryland, and over the years I guess… read more

Fiction
Mar 02 2021
The Hunter
The nurse and I had our faces covered by woolen scarves, gloved hands in our pockets, as we walked up the hill towards the RCMP station. I’d learned the hard… read more

Fiction
Mar 02 2021
Motherland
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… read more