Honeybee
Trista Mateer


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 memoir in verse, or at the very least, a story written by one of today's most confessional poets.



Praise

2015 Goodreads Readers Choice Winner - Poetry

"In Honeybee, Trista Mateer expertly exposes the intensity of first love. The longing. The ache. The end that seems to come even swifter than the beginning. The strangers you become—or always were. The way the things left unsaid haunt you for years afterward. If you’ve ever been unlucky enough to fall for somebody, you will undoubtedly find yourself reflected in Mateer’s spell-casting words. This is a collection that will beg you to be dogeared, coffee-stained, & shared." — Amanda Lovelace, Author of The Princess Saves Herself in This One

"How can something that hurts so much still be so tender? That’s the question one asks over and and over while reading Mateer’s work. She is delicate in the hurt, but don’t be fooled thinking that means she’s holding back. This is softness that shakes your shoulders. Honeybee is wanting someone, but not being able to. It’s wanting and being told not to want. It’s wanting anyway. It’s letting go, but not knowing how to do it without exploring every inch of what’s being let go first. Mateer triumphs in this exploration. We are humbled to be witness.” — Ari Eastman, Staff Writer at Thought Catalog and Author of Bloodline




Excerpt


THANK YOU

The smell of your hair puts my stomach in knots.
I want to lay roses at your feet.
I want to pray at the church of your hands.
I want to thank you for every awful thing you ever did to me.
No one will ever be able to knock the wind out of me again.
Not like that.
Not like you.


My strength is defined,
not by what I continue to carry,
but by what I have allowed myself
to put down.


I still remember you
as a little girl
who overwaters plants
because she doesn’t know
when to stop giving.