Longing
golden shovel after Czesław Miłosz

I’m trying to stop thinking about what I want to not // be. Sometimes I have looked into my heart and found that // everything’s packed up. The space so unassuming that I // catch myself thinking, where did I go? The paperwork of my want // difficult to reach; a // trick I forgot I’d made up to // make me let myself be. // It would be easier if I were a small bird or a god, // something at the far end of the scale, or // if I believed it was a // good not to want. The fox is a hero // of want, the way it just // screeches. If I were to change // into a fox or a tide or into // a man or a stovetop or an urgent kettle or a // god-ray of light hitting tarmac on Hastings seafront, it would be easy. As a tree, // it would be hard. I would have to grow // long fingers to reach my wants, but then for // a while I // could establish myself. It would be ages // before I moved on, though I guess that might not // be a bad thing, just the way of things, and the way of things wouldn’t hurt // this time because, if I were a tree, I would be wanting, but not wanting anyone.

Maya Little is a writer and theatremaker. She was a Roundhouse Young Poet 23 – 24 and the winner of the 2024 Creative Future poetry award. She is a regular workshop facilitator for the Oxford Poetry Library and Fusion Arts.