Featured Poems

Lesser Verbs Run the Risk of Going Extinct

according to some linguists, lest we take
for granted forsook will linger
past forsake—just wait

until wed becomes weddedcreep evolves  
from crept to creeped, a process already underway—

a reminder evolution lurks in language:
what we speak is not what we spoke
nor what will be spoken  

if we correct what doesn’t agree.
The agreement itself may change,

so why mourn the dangling participle,
the inevitable passing of the irregulars?

One day we’ll fail to recognize
our very forms. Use it or lose it, experts say

of speech, but what part of the participle is dangling,
I ask ChatGPT, which says it’s the one left
without a proper subject,
bereft

the way I feel when I forget
the names of birds who trilled outside
my houses, year after year: Northern perularobin

I hear them now, singing how
my slit heart slitted when they left,

how at the end, my lungs, a bellows, billowed
all my notes, compressed, as I pleaded
no, I pled, my requiem  

for the future of the past tense,
all of the ear I’ve lost.

Cumberland River Review, 2026

What We Read About Ukraine Makes Us Dream of Burning

On the road between villages
like Mriya and Myla, whose names mean Dream

and Sweetheart in our tongue,
mothers ink their children’s backs

with family contacts: uncle, aunt, grandmother,
lest the mothers die and the children 

be found alone. Lest we forget
the address they called home.

***

In my dream, I am a candle
that burned all night, despite the many ways
my wick might mushroom, 

ignite. Like any good flame
I tapered, acquiescing
to my extinction.

Yet I wavered, just a little,
nestled in the candelabra’s arm,
imagining a door might open, 

and it would be you, holding an oil lamp
or a flashlight, moving toward me
just as close as you are far, 

as if you never had the earth you came from torn
from your long fingers, stolen
like the light we took for granted

or the morning—you whose heart homed
like a pigeon dispatched in the war, to carry words
we can’t speak or imagine.

— Gulf Coast Magazine, 2023

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