American Faith

The ultimate subject of Maya Catherine's stunning debut collection is violence. American Faith begins with its manifestation in our country: a destructive administration, a history of cruelty and extermination, and a love of firearms. 'He owns a gun farm in Florida/they grow in swamps like chestnuts.' The poet introduces a suite of poems that precisely imagines the consequences, a series of 'cancellations'-of government, bees, the color wheel, the return to nature, and the end of the world. The violence naturally extends to the personal. The speaker's Romanian grandfather keeps wild dogs in case a man tries to steal his daughters. A godmother is psychologically erased by her tempestuous husband, who is nevertheless generous to flowers. 'It's what happened inside her/that slouched.' And what for some is routine can feel like an assault: a TSA agent wipes down a bra tucked in a traveler's suitcase, adding, 'prettiest terrorist I've seen all day.' Tentatively, the title poem casts light on the unexplored future, a solution that includes faith: '...the days, impatient, fresh beasts, appeal to me-You are here. You must believe in something.'