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."