Review: Poems from the Edge of Extinction edited by Chris McCabe
And I also wonder, rather gruesomely, how many languages died on the tongues ripped out of speakers’ mouths. I wonder how many people are losing the most intimate way of articulating themselves in the wake of globalized modernity. All of this makes me angry and makes me wish I could scrape English, a language of ultimate hegemony, out of my being. Of course, that would mean I’d lose access to my own native tongue.
To Wish, To Pray
Sometimes, I wish that I could wish away my frolicking youth,
clasping together my then worn sun-weathered hands in prayer,
grateful for all I had, thankful for the bountiful harvest.
I long to see the joy of being unmoored,
hopeful of life’s beginning,
as carefree as a warm spring breeze,
carried towards horizons I can’t imagine now.
The Free We
We are the Forgotten
Poem’s children.
We drink ground morphemes distilled in alkaline water,
gurgling syntaxes pooling in our saliva.
Primordial stardust
coalesces into the hornets
that swarm and rage in our small intestines.
That sting is our fuel.
A Writer’s Faith
I try to carve her
from hallowed words in my thesaurus,
but maybe she isn’t one person.
Perhaps she is a chorus
of harmonious dissonances
gurgling from honeyed ash-like timbre choices,
one shared mosaic face
with a kaleidoscope of voices.