Fiction | November 08, 2019
One or Several Mothers
MH Rowe
After installing my mother at the facility, we drove home in shock. My father sat in the passenger seat scratching his unshaven chin and spoke about the threat of rain in the cadence of a hypnotized weatherman. Our shock doubled or, I suppose, quadrupled, when we found her at home in her white chair, looking out the picture window as if nothing unusual had happened. The weather had turned. The sky was as blue as her good eye.
“Mama,” I said, “how did you get here? What are you doing?”
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
Feb 11 2020
Boulder
One day it wasn’t there. The next day it was. One day we were busy working the whole length of our section of road, south of 63rd Street, north of… read more
Fiction
Feb 11 2020
Earthquake Weather
Around dawn, the house shakes us awake. As Californians, we know what to do. Never hang pictures above your bed, or shelves of books. Those mistakes could kill you. Avoid… read more
Fiction
Feb 11 2020
Nom de Guerre
Who do you trust? Who tells you the truth? You trust your mechanic but you keep the receipts. You trust your mother, but you cut the cards. Maybe you trust… read more