“So, you’re picking up author Colson Whitehead from the airport for a a reading before taking him to dinner and conducting an interview. You’re a huge fan and you’re super excited about the opportunity, but also a bit nervous. Relax. You need not worry. You’re going to ace the assignment. The main thing you need to be concerned with is having a kickass playlist going on the tape deck when you rolled up to the terminal and I’m here to help. I offer no guarantees, but with some deductive reasoning, intuition, and internet sleuthing I think we can manage something that leaves everyone comfortable.”
Where is the military genius to grasp this terrible engine?
Winchester wrote. This gun that can be loaded
on Sunday and fired all week. This gun that makes a man
the equal of a company each minute, a regiment in ten,
a full brigade in thirty. This daylight full of lead—
where is the genius to grasp it? This terrible engine
that can sink in a river, fire like it’s never been
wet? A resolute man on horseback can travel West
for a month of Sundays: this gun makes a man
always ready. So He Cannot Be Captured. No weapon
more effective in the world, its aim more deft.
Where is the military genius to grasp this terrible engine—
to look past its sometime misfires, its uneven
first trials? To see like history it repeats itself (and yes,
sometimes stutters). To fire the gun makes a man
almost certain of safety. Against grizzly or Injun,
unequaled. Loaded safe as a church nave. And yet
where is the military genius to grasp this terrible engine?
Load it on Sunday; fire all week. This gun makes a man.
— Michael Nye: Here Comes the Yeti! Snow Days at Missouri Review
Often I tell myself that prison won’t define who I am, won’t be my legacy, won’t be the story of me.
But prison occupies a chapter of my story. It is a chapter with infinite subplots; a chapter that winds and tumbles and burns and weaves and dives and rises from the ashes.
It’s time again for the start here at The Missouri Review of our annual Audio Competition (in its 7th year). Â Featuring original audio content and producing an in-house podcast series are things we love doing, and in years past we have had the chance to share with our readers and listeners, through this contest, some really fantastic original audio pieces. Â Here are some things worth knowing about the contest this year (complete guidelines can be found here). We have three categories: Poetry, Prose, and Documentary.Â The guidelines provide a description of what we are looking for in each, but you can also check out all our previous winners and runners-up here. Â Email us at firstname.lastname@example.org if you’d like any more details or descriptions of the categories, and weâll work to get your questions answered. The time limit for submissions will again be 15 minutes this year.
By the time you realize how
I’ve shrunk enough that two
beetles shoulder to shoulder
in the aisles of a cabbage leaf
could give me the what-for
I’ll be aweigh on the swells
of night, galley engorged
with slurpings, but light getting
lighter becomes the weighty
nature of an old dragon lady
whose spasms slather the sky
as galaxies glide through my black
holes and I stretch to accept
each spurt of twinkling cloud.
— Our poem of the week Michelle Boisseau’s “I Ate My Mate.”