Poetry | June 01, 1987
The full text of this poem is currently not available online.
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
10.2 (Summer 1987)
Featuring the work of Will Baker, Steve Bauer, Don Bogen, Richard Cecil, Alice Denham, Richard Dokey, Robert Farnsworth, Anne Fleming, Sandra Gilbert, Brenda Hillman, Andrew Hudgins, T. R. Hummer, Robert Juarroz, Jackson Lears, Philip Levine, Gardner McFall, Pablo Neruda, Lowrey Pei, Joanna Scott, Arthur Smith, Dave Smith, Maura Stanton, D. E. Steward, Henry David Thoreau, Barton Wilcox, Alan Williamson, Anne Winters…and an interview with Richard Ford.
Jan 07 2022
6 Poems by Rebecca Lehmann
Specter What specter? This baby’s love? An extinct animal? Keats’s ghastly prismatic ghost-hand reaching beyond the grave? My stepmother’s grandmother, now blind, head throbbingas she labors to breathe, mouths commands
Jan 07 2022
4 Poems by Maggie Queeney
The Nature of the Body of the Patient Was it a pet gifted to her at birth, or the wild animalbroken to bear and carry the load of her, drag
Jan 06 2022
4 Poems by Joe Wilkins
Limp A slash pile always looks like it hurts.Torn limbs & uprooted stumps.The land about dozer-rutted tractor-gouged.Trees all gone a raw face a black boil it hurts.I wish we didn’t