​What the Current Cannot Swallow is a soulful collection of poetry that traverses the vast and intimate geography of love, illness, caregiving, and mourning. Set primarily between Rome and the American Midwest, Debra Hall’s poems move through embassy lines, a hospital on the Tiber, catacombs, hospice rooms, mountain trails, and a family kitchen. Hall attends to small, exact particulars—a deli counter, bear bells, a peppermint, a rosary, hail at the window, a grandson’s birth—and lets them carry the weight of what cannot be said. The work stays close to the body and to the world. The pieces in it mark a crossing, and the daily work of living in the aftermath of survival.