Parallax

How does one stay vigilant to the horrors of the world when the “wallet’s empty and sink is full”? asks Kolchinsky (40 Weeks) in this reflective work of witness. The poet, who left Ukraine with her family at age six, toggles painfully between watching the war unfold in Ukraine and caring for her daughter and neurodiverse son in the U.S. As in her previous collection, which chronicled her second pregnancy, motherhood is a central theme. Yet this new portrait of motherhood against a backdrop of war is ragged and despairing. Kolchinsky expands the motif to touch on her mother tongue, her motherland, and the obliteration of physical autonomy that comes with motherhood. On the 100th day of the war, she writes, “My tongue/ hurts my mouth... I claw at my scalp to find/ unintended gifts my children/ left behind—lime playdough, floss, an uneaten/ french fry. Their bodies use mine/ as treasure chest & waste bin.” In “Tell me it gets easier,” she does nothing to soften the blow, telling new parents that no, it doesn’t get easier: “The depths/ are endless not because/ they do not end but because/ we’ve never reached the bottom.” And yet, “endurance is a resistance all its own.” Readers will find this a moving and impactful collection. (Mar.)