In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:

SONNET / Stanley Plumly Whatever it is, however it comes, it takes time. It can take all night. My father would sit on the edge of the bed and let the tears fall to the floor, the sun the size of the window, full and rising. He was a dead man and he knew it. I think of him almost every time I fall in love, how the heart is three-quarters high in the body. —He could lift his own weight above his head. —He could run a furrow straight by hand. I think of him large in his dark house, hard in thought, taking his time. But in fact he is sitting on the edge of the bed, and it is morning, my mother's arms around him. 16 ¦ The Missouri Review ...


Additional Information

Print ISSN
p. 16
Launched on MUSE
Open Access
Back To Top

This website uses cookies to ensure you get the best experience on our website. Without cookies your experience may not be seamless.