Fall 2017 – Michigan Quarterly Review

Fall 2017

“Worry,” by Jenny Irish

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Time is a color-shifting jelly. They move through it slowly, achieving new positions in which they stay suspended until another change is forced. He answers certain knocks at the door and certain phone calls. He addresses what he can address, and then breaststrokes his way back to her.

“Worry,” by Jenny Irish Read More »

Time is a color-shifting jelly. They move through it slowly, achieving new positions in which they stay suspended until another change is forced. He answers certain knocks at the door and certain phone calls. He addresses what he can address, and then breaststrokes his way back to her.

“The One Who Feeds Us All,” by Margaret Morganroth Gullette

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The facts I gradually discovered about the human survivors who feed us all have an element of surprise, tinged with wariness about the future. What might once have seemed alien in their way of being came to seem special, all too rare, precious, endangered.

“The One Who Feeds Us All,” by Margaret Morganroth Gullette Read More »

The facts I gradually discovered about the human survivors who feed us all have an element of surprise, tinged with wariness about the future. What might once have seemed alien in their way of being came to seem special, all too rare, precious, endangered.

“Tourist at the Sisters of Charity,” by Gabriela Garcia

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She cried and I painted. And when I was finished,
she wiped that still-wet hand on my pants, left

streaks of drying varnish stinking the air.
Held her hand toward me. Said, again. Again.

“Tourist at the Sisters of Charity,” by Gabriela Garcia Read More »

She cried and I painted. And when I was finished,
she wiped that still-wet hand on my pants, left

streaks of drying varnish stinking the air.
Held her hand toward me. Said, again. Again.

“The Invention of Love,” by Sara Schaff

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Presumably, we’d all once found something magic in making art—why else were we taking this class? Yet no one ever described the joy they felt in witnessing something beautiful. All of Elliott’s prints were beautiful. It was as simple as that.

“The Invention of Love,” by Sara Schaff Read More »

Presumably, we’d all once found something magic in making art—why else were we taking this class? Yet no one ever described the joy they felt in witnessing something beautiful. All of Elliott’s prints were beautiful. It was as simple as that.

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