"She maps her own disaster with silence."

These are lines from the poem "How to Write About It," which first appeared in the Red Sky anthology, and is included in my 2017 book The Traveler's Guide to Bomb City.

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Gray hairstreak butterfly. So small and intricate. All dressed up. I like to think of the moment a butterfly opens its wings as "the big reveal."

"A scar is not the only way to prove there was a wound."

These are lines from the poem "Salvage List," title poem of my new book Salvage List, now available through Belle Point Press.

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These are lines from the poem "Red Mare," in my new book Salvage List, available through Belle Point Press.

"There is no courage unless fear comes first.
This blistering brilliance means nothing at all,
except that we are alive."

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"Every day contains something from before that carries over with us,
and something else always just about to begin."

These are lines from "Sparrows," which first appeared at Rattle.com and is in my poetry collection The Traveler's Guide to Bomb City.

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"I'm ashamed to admit that even having known plenty,
I still don't know what enough is,
only what it isn't."

The full poem "Upon Reading that Fruit Flies Age Faster Once They Have Seen Death" appears in Rattle.com & in Birds of America (The Dial Press, avail. 2026).

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"What we must learn here is not our loneliness."

This is a line from my poem "Amnesties," which opens my 2020 collection Maps of Injury, available through Sundress Publications.

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Took a break from writing (and doomscrolling) yesterday to watch Flash's mane blow in the wind. It helped.

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When you read, do you experience colors?

This week's post at The Hurt and the Miracle is a look at grapheme-color synesthesia. cherahammons.substack.com/p/reading-po...

Lines from the poem "Falconry," which is from my 2017 collection The Traveler's Guide to Bomb City.

"The tree speaks of its burdens in the winter,
but tries to keep secrets now."

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Lines from "Tornado Alley," first published in Rattle.

"The storm will pass soon, the worst ones wear themselves out fast with their violence,
and the morning will sparkle with dew and bent metal.
The roots of the trees holding the sky like something they'd hoped for."

Throwback to when pronghorns lived down the street from me. Now there's a neighborhood of giant, bland houses there. I greatly preferred the antelope.

I need to be spending more time here! I'll try to do better. This is my poem "The Fall of Rome," which was first published by Diode and will be included in the book Salvage List, forthcoming this summer from Belle Point Press.

These are lines from my poem "When the Cottontail Doesn't Return," first published by The Southern Review.
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