Meet the Rabbit: Mariah Swartz
Poet, teacher, journal editor
Introducing the Rabbits of Realness social media and project assistant, Mariah Swartz! Mariah joined us in October of 2023 after a long-time mentor (and mutual friend of Spoon’s) encouraged her to reconnect with Spoon and jump into the continuously growing journey that is RoR. Mariah originally connected with Spoon in high school, after he wrote in as a guest poet in her english class. Spoon agreed to provide feedback on some of Mariah’s poems, and they became pen pals, sending poems and revisions back and forth. Spoon’s book of poems, Longer Ago, was subsequently used as a text in Mariah’s poetry and literary magazine classes. After a letter writing hiatus during college, Mariah is working as a teacher in Baltimore, and is back to writing projects with Spoon!
Born and raised in the big skies of Montana, Mariah recently relocated to the East Coast to live out her lifelong dream of being an educator. She spends her time navigating city life, teaching third grade, and being proactive in Rabbits of Realness. “I want writers, artists, people who might like to be, etc. to create a sense of community for each other. Tell the usually unspoken stories outside of the norm so that people feel heard. My goal for Rabbits of Realness is to create a community where people aren’t afraid to speak up, speak out, share their experiences and traumas. I also want to develop myself as a writer - I told two of my mentors I would become an author one day- I’m holding myself to that.”
So far, Mariah’s writing has been published in Into the Void- Issue 8, Qtr 2 (Storm Warning), Up Lit North, and has bee nationally recognized by Scholastic Art and Writing.
Here’s one of Mariah’s poems:
Vega
Tall weeds are silhouettes in August nightfall,
smoke nestles in trees it hasn’t burned before.
We were both confused and numb
in the way ice melts in palms
after holding it too long. We laughed,
remembering her shoot through my window
like a comet after
her mother hit her and locked the door.
Her hair was tangled, arms pressed with red fingerprints
and it was too early to watch the stars, too late to wish for anything.
So we smoked mountain berry joints on back porch steps
leaned against the house
to watch the horizon fade into yawning dark
until moon looked like a glowing uvula.
Stars whirled themselves into Big Dipper
And O’Rions belt, which I can never see.
So we smoked
until laughter swelled our tonsils
and stars spoke in Latin
and dry summer air split our lips
with a weak hand. We watched orange heat fade
to ash and kiss night with echoing laughter, ours.
We were never meant to be like this:
hazed with our backs bare against the pavement
and no one to tell us when to come in.
She whispered something about being an adult soon.
I took her hand and we listened
for something to change that night
or to feel something—anything but this
gravel burying itself in my shoulder.
She was humming something I swear I heard
before, but it sounded different. It sounded like a song for all of the homes where she’d been left too long
alone, like
a hymn for everything she’s lost.
We don’t remember how we became friends.
When we heard a car coming, our bodies
were too heavy. We were still waiting for something to change, what comes after worry, low in the
stomach like wet ash.
We asked the soft breeze to push us.You can read more of Mariah’s work in our upcoming anthology zine of Where I’m From Poems by Rabbits of Realness collaborators.