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black and white overlays of feminine faces
Zone 3 Press, the literary magazine of Austin Peay State University
Volume 40, Issue 1
Volume 40, Issue 1

goodbye, moon: declarations in belief

  • By Alana Craib

I believe in childhood, I believe in springtime.    

I believe in eating cheerios off the floor.    

I believe in routine. I believe in mourning coffee.   

I believe in writing inside my books, to show them that you can be worn and weathered and
     still cared for.

I believe that my dog, Winston, who is ten years old and has three tumors in his spine, will
     never die. So I will never visit home to say goodbye to him.   

                                                                    This doesn’t mean I don’t believe in death.   

I believe that you loved me.                                                I believe in my heart’s physical form.   

I believe in the smell of rain.         I believe in green.          I believe in yellow cars on the side
     of the road.   

I believe in breathing underwater.   

I believe in dreaming underwater.                I believe in the transformative powers of your
       body.   

I believe in dishes and laundry.                     I don’t believe in sweeping.   

I believe in tarot being a way of understanding your subconscious.   
                                        I don’t believe in the future,   
                                                                                          because I don’t believe in time passing.   

I believe in quantum physics.                         I believe in owls. I believe in the sound of
     cicadas.   

I believe in sex and grief, swimming in the same fishbowl.                       I believe in
     desperation; 
I believe I am made of it.                                          I believe in the giant squid.   

I believe the shapes behind our eyes are the patterns of our skulls.   
                                                           They look like flowers.  
                                                           I believe in the moon.   I believe she is slowly flying away                                                            from us and taking the oceans with her, off to find better                                                            things. I believe gravity’s hands also have gaps between                                                            their fingers.   

                                                           I sometimes believe in the sun.   

I believe in seeing, and this is what I see:   

the tall purple grass and he is bounding back to me. He believes in dinnertime. He believes
     that I will be here forever.  

I believe in my own empty hands. How they wish to hold onto things.   

I believe that they cannot hold onto anything.       


     

I believe that such believing is a mercy.   

About Alana Craib

Alana Craib (they/she) is a writer and artist from upstate New York. Her work is often concerned with matters of love, green burial, queer bodies, mothers/grandmothers, ghosts, the kitchen, and the bog. Their writing has most recently been featured in The Plentitudes, Motif, Antiphony, december, Creation Magazine, and The Tiny Journal, with work forthcoming in Foglifter. Alana is a recipient of the 2024 Andrea K. Willison Poetry Prize and the 2025 Feldman Prize in Fiction. They hold a BA in Creative Writing and Literary History from Sarah Lawrence College. Alana currently lives in Providence, RI, where she is an MFA candidate in Fiction at Brown University. In their free time, Alana enjoys playing on the guitar, collecting sentimental objects, collage, and dozing. You can find more work at alana-craib.com as well as @dozy.girl on Instagram. 

black and white overlays of feminine faces
Zone 3 Press, the literary magazine of Austin Peay State University
Volume 40, Issue 1
Volume 40, Issue 1

goodbye, moon: declarations in belief

  • By Alana Craib

I believe in childhood, I believe in springtime.    

I believe in eating cheerios off the floor.    

I believe in routine. I believe in mourning coffee.   

I believe in writing inside my books, to show them that you can be worn and weathered and
     still cared for.

I believe that my dog, Winston, who is ten years old and has three tumors in his spine, will
     never die. So I will never visit home to say goodbye to him.   

                                                                    This doesn’t mean I don’t believe in death.   

I believe that you loved me.                                                I believe in my heart’s physical form.   

I believe in the smell of rain.         I believe in green.          I believe in yellow cars on the side
     of the road.   

I believe in breathing underwater.   

I believe in dreaming underwater.                I believe in the transformative powers of your
       body.   

I believe in dishes and laundry.                     I don’t believe in sweeping.   

I believe in tarot being a way of understanding your subconscious.   
                                        I don’t believe in the future,   
                                                                                          because I don’t believe in time passing.   

I believe in quantum physics.                         I believe in owls. I believe in the sound of
     cicadas.   

I believe in sex and grief, swimming in the same fishbowl.                       I believe in
     desperation; 
I believe I am made of it.                                          I believe in the giant squid.   

I believe the shapes behind our eyes are the patterns of our skulls.   
                                                           They look like flowers.  
                                                           I believe in the moon.   I believe she is slowly flying away                                                            from us and taking the oceans with her, off to find better                                                            things. I believe gravity’s hands also have gaps between                                                            their fingers.   

                                                           I sometimes believe in the sun.   

I believe in seeing, and this is what I see:   

the tall purple grass and he is bounding back to me. He believes in dinnertime. He believes
     that I will be here forever.  

I believe in my own empty hands. How they wish to hold onto things.   

I believe that they cannot hold onto anything.       


     

I believe that such believing is a mercy.   

Volume 40, Issue 1
Volume 40, Issue 1

goodbye, moon: declarations in belief

  • By Alana Craib

I believe in childhood, I believe in springtime.    

I believe in eating cheerios off the floor.    

I believe in routine. I believe in mourning coffee.   

I believe in writing inside my books, to show them that you can be worn and weathered and
     still cared for.

I believe that my dog, Winston, who is ten years old and has three tumors in his spine, will
     never die. So I will never visit home to say goodbye to him.   

                                                                    This doesn’t mean I don’t believe in death.   

I believe that you loved me.                                                I believe in my heart’s physical form.   

I believe in the smell of rain.         I believe in green.          I believe in yellow cars on the side
     of the road.   

I believe in breathing underwater.   

I believe in dreaming underwater.                I believe in the transformative powers of your
       body.   

I believe in dishes and laundry.                     I don’t believe in sweeping.   

I believe in tarot being a way of understanding your subconscious.   
                                        I don’t believe in the future,   
                                                                                          because I don’t believe in time passing.   

I believe in quantum physics.                         I believe in owls. I believe in the sound of
     cicadas.   

I believe in sex and grief, swimming in the same fishbowl.                       I believe in
     desperation; 
I believe I am made of it.                                          I believe in the giant squid.   

I believe the shapes behind our eyes are the patterns of our skulls.   
                                                           They look like flowers.  
                                                           I believe in the moon.   I believe she is slowly flying away                                                            from us and taking the oceans with her, off to find better                                                            things. I believe gravity’s hands also have gaps between                                                            their fingers.   

                                                           I sometimes believe in the sun.   

I believe in seeing, and this is what I see:   

the tall purple grass and he is bounding back to me. He believes in dinnertime. He believes
     that I will be here forever.  

I believe in my own empty hands. How they wish to hold onto things.   

I believe that they cannot hold onto anything.       


     

I believe that such believing is a mercy.   

About Alana Craib

Alana Craib (they/she) is a writer and artist from upstate New York. Her work is often concerned with matters of love, green burial, queer bodies, mothers/grandmothers, ghosts, the kitchen, and the bog. Their writing has most recently been featured in The Plentitudes, Motif, Antiphony, december, Creation Magazine, and The Tiny Journal, with work forthcoming in Foglifter. Alana is a recipient of the 2024 Andrea K. Willison Poetry Prize and the 2025 Feldman Prize in Fiction. They hold a BA in Creative Writing and Literary History from Sarah Lawrence College. Alana currently lives in Providence, RI, where she is an MFA candidate in Fiction at Brown University. In their free time, Alana enjoys playing on the guitar, collecting sentimental objects, collage, and dozing. You can find more work at alana-craib.com as well as @dozy.girl on Instagram.