Poetry | December 11, 2020
Poems: Janette Schafer
Janette Schafer
Elixir
When I was five, I discovered alcohol in abandoned red cups
scattered about the Green House, the first place we lived
in Detroit after Venezuela.
Dad rolled blunts on a burned-out coffee table while Mom
played with his wiry black hair. Aunt Sherry put her hand
on his knee, slid her fingers up to his zipper.
I went from cup to cup, from room to room
as motorcycle after motorcycle parked
in our front yard.
The beer, a healing bitter herb,
a toy kaleidoscope, swirl of orange, yellow,
and red in fragmented shapes
amid the noise of black leather
and silver chrome. I fell in a slow arc,
mother’s laughter, liquor in my ringing ears.
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
Editor's Prize Winner
Apr 16 2024
6 Poems by Lance Larsen
The Poet Translates the Cryptic Text He Sent in a Fever from the Camino de Santiago Trail When I said the longest day of the year, I meant not solstice… read more
Poetry
Apr 16 2024
from “My Heart and the Nonsense,” a poem by John Okrent
from “My Heart and the Nonsense” “Oh heavens, all the lives one wants or has to lead.” —Robert Lowell, in a letter to Elizabeth Bishop I. Before I longed to… read more
Poetry
Apr 16 2024
6 Poems by Fleda Brown
Walk, I After a mile or so arthritis begins to tighten my back and I start trudging, walking to keep on walking, which is what you have to do.… read more