- Trista Mateer
- May 1, 2018
- Poetry | 160pp
- Cloth 978-1-77168-170-4 $19.99
- Trade Paper 978-1-77168-136-0 $12.95
- Ebook 978-1-77168-137-7 $5.99
You will meet people in your lifetime who demand to have poems written about them. It’s not something they say. It’s something about their hands, the shape of their mouths, the way they look walking away from you.
Honeybee is an honest take on walking away and still feeling like you were walked away from. It’s about cutting love loose like a kite string and praying the wind has the decency to carry it away from you. It’s an ode to the back and forth, the process of letting something go but not knowing where to put it down. Honeybee is putting it down. It’s small town girls and plane tickets, a taste of tenderness and honey, the bandage on the bee sting. It’s a reminder that you are not defined by the people you walk away from or the people who walk away from you.
Consider Honeybee a tale in verse, or at the very least, a story written by one of today’s most confessional poets.
a note from the author:
Years ago, a girl I used to love drove across state lines to get to a poetry reading, pulled out a piece of notebook paper, and approached the feature. I don’t know what she said, but she came home with a handwritten note addressed to me from my favorite poet that read: “Trista, keep writing! The world needs your voice! Loud Loud Loud!”
I took it under consideration but I didn’t really start writing until she left. It was long, and it was drawn out, and you can thank Andrea Gibson for the fact that it was Loud.
Honeybee is a collection about letting go, and like anyone who’s ever successfully let anything go will tell you, you have to feel everything before you can put it down. What this means is that letting go is rarely a straightforward process. It’s messy and it’s repetitive, and it happens in waves of trying to make things work and trying to move on at the same time. If I’ve done my job right, this book reflects that. I wrote it as things were unraveling. I put the original versions of these poems out into the world before things were truly over, because I wanted things to be over. This book, as it sits here now in its entirety, is an honest admission that something has ended.
I still write about it from time to time. I still press my fingers to the bruise. That’s okay. So many people have reached out to me since I started sharing this work online. You all asked if it got better and I said, yes. Yes.
It’s not the same hurt anymore.