Category / Midwest Review 5 (2017) / Nonfiction

My mother’s younger sister in stocking feet, her shoes dangling from one hand, the other hand easing open the screen door, easing it closed, escapes into the shadows. My mother lies on…

My hands shook, not so much from holding a dead rattlesnake as from the possibility that the snake wasn’t dead. Not all the way. A ranger found it on the road, its…

I decided to rent a wood chipper. I need mulch for the strawberry and asparagus beds. I need something to spread in thick layers between the rows of bi-color sweet corn and…

In the 1950s, I sat by the River Jordan, the creek meandering through the Indiana University campus, and translated. I was a DP, a displaced person, as those of us who could…