Butterfly Nebula

“Butterfly Nebula is a rare creation of song and scar, of vulnerability and eco-consciousness, of emotional complexity and simple witness. In a world where empathy is under threat of erasure, these poems show us how ‘dust become[s] the blood,’ how the heart can be a ‘universal symbol,’ and how ours is inherently a ‘liquid alphabet.’ These poems take responsibility for themselves while reminding us of our own responsibilities to the world and each other. There’s such sharpness to Hogan’s metaphors, such richness to the world she builds for us, both defining and pushing against the edges of our shared human experience. ‘It is said all flesh is grass’ and ‘that we are ashes / and to ashes we return,’ but Hogan knows the truth, uncertain as it may always be to us. ‘A prophet folded may appear to be dead,’ but in the world of Butterfly Nebula, nothing is ever truly dead. These poems choose to both celebrate and mourn everything they touch. Even their own ghosts. Even that greater truth that always remains just slightly out of reach, that she refuses to stop reaching toward.”—John Sibley Williams, author of Skin Memory
“Laura Reece Hogan’s work is unforgettable because it’s true, true the way Hopkins or Dickinson are true, who must bend words to tell the truth of what it feels like to be separate, all the while knowing there is more than separation to the story, more even to the stories than their beginnings and comings to an end. Hogan is one of the brilliant lights that only rarely comes along.”—David Keplinger, author of The World to Come
“Beautiful. Months after reading these gorgeous poems, that word surfaces each time I think about Butterfly Nebula. Beautiful in its spiritual reach, beautiful in its often odd and always exquisite imagery, and beautiful in its composition, Butterfly Nebula lifts us into the galaxy in one line and plunges us into the ocean the next. Hogan’s articulation of longing seduced me, her words voicing thoughts still vague in my heart. In ‘Soul Nebula,’ she writes: ‘You wonder / why the inside must be swept clear