Nonfiction | September 01, 1993
The Poloneza
This essay is not currently available online.
When the Campana tolled one chill March day, I was huddled next to the stove in Thanasis’ carpentry shop, sharing a cigarette with him.
“Who’s died, I wonder?” I asked.
He answered, “the Poloneza.”
“on no! The poor thing!” Tears filled my eyes. The Mami, the midwife, had told me that the Poloneza, the “Polish woman,” whose real name none of us knew, had gone for the second time in ayear to hospital in Athens, this time to be treated for a septic womb.
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
Nonfiction
Jan 07 2022
Cover Up
Cover Up I did not begin my time in Jerusalem with the desire to be dangerous. I arrived in that most intoxicating, infuriating, enervating, derelict, and sad of cities with… read more
Nonfiction
Jan 06 2022
Of Sound Mind and Memory
Of Sound Mind and MemoryOn Wills and Language and Lawyers and Loveby Judith Claire Mitchell PreambleI, _____________, being of sound and disposing mind and memory, hereby declare this to be… read more
Nonfiction
Jan 05 2022
Terrorist Doc
Terrorist DocUsing a scalpel, I made incision across the length of the baseball-sized mass in the patient’s upper eyelid. Within seconds, like walking in a dense fog, I was struggling… read more