Mother Ship

In Mother Ship, we gather chantarelles and words in a Lithuanian wood. We watch snow fill Lenin's eyes, picnic in a burning field, and shake hands with 'a feral future/just now beginning to snarl.' In poems of witness and warning, Paul Jaskunas envisions the ecological precarity to come even as he evokes the mysteries of the past and attends with care to the urgent possibilities of our moment. Inviting readers to 'drink the cold water/from underground rivers of time,' Mother Ship shines with grace amid the wreckage of history.