Vapor by Sara Eliza Johnson, reviewed by Rebecca Samuelson
Uncovering What Remains: Vapor by Sara Eliza Johnson
The impact humans have on the planet can be difficult to contemplate. Sara Eliza Johnson takes this rumination a step further by exploring the trails that individuals leave behind as environmental issues engulf society. Vapor is a collection that implores readers to consider the complexity surrounding every decision as well as the choices that people have made before our present time.
The collection is divided into seven sections with multiple poems sharing the same title. By having more than one piece titled “vapor,” many thoughts arise. It pushes the reader to consider that existence consists of temporary moments. The cover art, which depicts physical pink vapor, produces an immediate emphasis on occupying space. Johnson reveals to the reader what this means in terms of species and phenomenon.
Science and physics play an integral role throughout the collection. In the first piece “Planktonic Foraminifera” (1), an image of alien fish becomes magnified once you understand that planktonic foraminifera are single-celled organisms found in the ocean. Concepts like these do not feel like a barrier because they directly address the reader. Johnson encourages you to think about these concepts while observing the movement taking place. The observational tone and intentional pause are set in the very first poem.
To prevent the reader from getting weighed down by structures like amplituhedron or black holes, Johnson employs different shapes of poems. In some cases, this comes in the form of an extended prose poem, or in others it comes as varying lengths of couplets. She intentionally utilizes blank space and caesuras to emphasize specific lines. One of the clearest examples of this is in “Nebula” (26-27) where line 7 is a stark “You float” between stanzas.
She also recalls certain images across poems. There are numerous mentions of a “wound” that appears to encapsulate our experiences as human beings. At times this wound is in the form of changes in the land composition, and then it shifts to hearts beating. “Asteroseismology” (43) is the clearest example of this combination of images. The title means the study of oscillations in stars and this act of swinging back and forth is represented in the poem’s couplets. Line 1 also creates a raw image for the reader:
Like all derelict things, grief devours me.
Being swallowed up by grief or darkness is a concept that pervades the book. Johnson goes between light and darkness by way of stars or shadows unfurling around us. As the poem continues, lines 5–10 get to the heart of the matter:
…But somewhere deep inside
me still comes a light, a molten handful
of uranium that burns a path out,
threatens to eat clean through my chest,
drain from that wound
like an infection.
These lines show the strength of unexpected comparisons. The reader can feel them bursting forth on the page and out of themselves.
As the collection progresses, the reader moves through space and time. Section six has three pieces titled “Titan.” Titan is Saturn’s largest moon and you can feel its vastness through the images in “Titan” (57-58). This poem is about the lake Jingpo Lacus. Amidst images of UV light, crystals, and waves there is a feeling of familiarity wherever you are. The opening couplet captures this beautifully:
This lake holds you as if it knows
your form, has felt you before. (1-2)
There is a sense of unraveling into something that recognizes the reader and this becomes extremely intriguing with all of the combined images. Beginning with a lake and ending with a flood has an incredible impact.
Once the reader reaches the final section, it feels like having engaged with an entire galaxy. There are so many intriguing images that make the reader stop and take notice. “Revelation” (65-66) captures the observational nature present throughout every poem. It shows how humans are able to ponder the connections and relationships with the world, but it still requires additional time to revisit these thoughts to achieve a breakthrough. This essence of still seeking answers is most present in lines 15–17:
…I’d feed my heart
to a snake if it would show me how to change
skins, how to survive as an unlovable thing.
After spending most of the collection directly addressing the reader, it seems important to note that the “I” makes its presence known in the last section of the book.
Johnson’s second book attempts to see through the different vapor that surrounds us. Whether that’s through thinking about migration or combustion, she provides many stops for readers to reflect on what they see. The collection ends with shivering which echoes the importance of continual movement. We have to keep going even when the vapor dissipates.
Vapor by Sara Eliza Johnson, published by Milkweed Editions, August 2022. 96 pages.
Rebecca Samuelson is a Bay Area poet from Hayward, California who writes from the intersection of caretaking and grief. She received her MFA in creative writing, with a concentration in poetry, from Saint Mary’s College of California. She received a BA in English, with a concentration in creative writing, from San Francisco State University. Her work can be found at rebecca-samuelson.com.
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