THE LEAST OF WHAT WE DO

by Pilar Saavedra-Vela

 

Vusala Yusifova and her daughter, Inji, asylum seekers from Azerbaijan, cutting a client’s hair in Monteverde, Costa Rica. Photograph by César Rodríguez.

 

Trump Deported Them. A Costa Rican Mountain Town Took Them In. —The New York Times, April 16, 2026
 

 

Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me. —Matthew 25:31-46
 
 

The cicadas have been silenced
by the chill of the oncoming night
 
On the highway, under a tree,
cardboard  is home  to a warm body
 
The cloud village of Monteverde
welcomes  deported families
 
from Russia and Azerbaijan who sought
asylum in America
 
One Russian witnessed  election cheating
another  man protested in Azerbaijan
 
Imagine being denied American
solidarity, shown instead a boot
 
all the way to  Costa Rican limbo
to find help among  the Quakers
 
Korean war objectors
who settled  a mountain top
 
The poet’s song has been silenced
 by the chill of the oncoming night
 
The tired, poor yearning masses
cradled by the foreigners as their own.


Pilar Saavedra-Vela is a student of poetry, painting, and acting, former editor and translator.  Born in Colombia, she grew up in the US  and now lives in Costa Rica. Pilar's poetry has been published in Passagers and The New Verse News.

SPOTTED

by Kelley White





The State tells us to kill them on sight.
Even the juveniles, for they will only mature
and breed in their hidden nests. They are
invasive. Not native to our country. They are
a threat to our Environment, our Agriculture,
our food supply, our Way of Life. Even our
trees! They will change the landscape of our
towns and cities forever if we fail to eliminate
them now. This Asian threat. And their noxious
secretions.

Some counties are in quarantine because of them.
I know the bridge where they congregate
in the sun between our two cities. I watched
a young woman walk there with her children,
striking out in all directions. They offered
no resistance. The small blond daughter held
her mother’s hand while in the other she brandished
her own weapon. And the blue-eyed baby
in the stroller chortled.

My own granddaughter has learned at preschool
that they are Bad. She screamed when one tapped
on the car window. I assured her we were safe.
If I simply drove away it would fall behind;
it could not cling to us at even moderate speed.
And later, when one tapped against the windows
of the house I showed her that it could not creep in
even as it searched for cracks and crevices
and the dog kept up his fearful sentinel alarm.

Later, I through their encampment myself.
They silently avoided me, sidestepping me and
the red and crushed bodies of their fellows. I realized
that I could easily kill dozens, hundreds, depending
on my choice of weapon. I was annoyed by their skitting
hunched walk on narrow feet and the skinny knees
beneath their drab gray armor. I knew how satisfying
it would be to strike them down, but I did not want
to be a killer. They did not harm me directly.

After meeting for worship even the Quaker elders
debated the best ways to destroy them. Fire, poison,
suffocation; someone has spotted a preying
mantis devouring one alive. Some applaud,
but I have seen their vulnerable red bellies,
seen the beauty when they spread their wings
into their clumsy hopping flight. Pretty as any butterfly.
Lycorma delicatula. Spotted. Lantern. Fly.

Pediatrician Kelley White has worked in inner city Philadelphia and rural New Hampshire. Her poems have appeared in Exquisite Corpse, Rattle and JAMA. Her recent books are Toxic Environment (Boston Poet Press) and Two Birds in Flame (Beech River Books.) She received a 2008 Pennsylvania Council on the Arts grant.

RUSSIAN FELLOWSHIP

by David Feela

Just as Quakers sit in silence
moved to stand
when the spirit insists

so does the American public
occupy its bench
in perfect contemplation

of the moment.
Then Democracy quietly rises
without speaking,

shuffles into the bathroom
and with uncharacteristic clatter
bolts the door.


David Feela writes a monthly column for The Four Corners Free Press and for The Durango Telegraph. A poetry chapbook, Thought Experiments, won the Southwest Poet Series. The Home Atlas appeared in 2009. A Collection of his essays, How Delicate These Arches, was a finalist for the Colorado Book Award. Unsolicited Press will release his new chapbook, Little Acres, in April 2019.