Fiction | September 01, 2002

This story is not currently available online.

I set decoys–my father called them tollers–by dropping their small steel anchors overboards, paying out line.  They had thin keels on their underbellies that kept them pointed in the same direction, lookin exactly like any raft of ducks you’d see up the cove.

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.

SEE THE ISSUE

SUGGESTED CONTENT