Maya Jewell Zeller is the author of the interdisciplinary collaboration (with visual artist Carrie DeBacker) Alchemy For Cells & Other Beasts (Entre Rios Books, 2017), the chapbook Yesterday, the Bees (Floating Bridge Press, 2015), and the poetry collection Rust Fish (Lost Horse Press, 2011). Other manuscripts have been finalists with the National Poetry Series, Waywiser Press, New Issues, and elsewhere. Recipient of a Promise Award from the Sustainable Arts Foundation as well as a Residency in the H.J. Andrews Experimental Forest, Maya teaches for Central Washington University and edits poetry for Scablands Books.
Sometimes, in winter, we pretend
we live in New England, or Narnia,
a place aglow with lamp posts and nostalgia
or a novel where we get what we want
and don’t have to do chores, or remember
people who hurt us or broke our hearts.
But here we are in Spokane, and I’m planning
to stay home until mid-January, make
no excuses. Is it as simple as taking down
the Christmas lights will be in three
weeks? I have spent my life longing,
spilling with desire. I have always
written letters to boys. But Tori,
you’re the one, no shits to give,
knowing they’re all zeros. Once
I sought help from a professional,
but all I needed was a piglet,
a gun, and a rocking chair.
Some mud. My daughter takes
my hand and says Mom,
sometimes a person is a moron
for not loving you. Let’s make
some cookies and frost them. It’s nice
I don’t have school. I’m pretty tired
of looking at people’s faces, too.