The Air I Breathe

Tears go by as years expand from Heaven to horizon; and I scale the mountain ranges risen in consequence of your death. Jesus, or some other guardian breathes for me whilst my lungs delight in respite from high altitudes.   ***   In this, the winter of my youth, stillness settles deep into bone, and

Until There’s Nothing Left

My heart itches in the dark, and I can hear a scratching— sounds like millions of insects marching over a coffin.   I want to make my fingers into tiny shovels— dig until there’s nothing left.   © Kindra M. Austin

TWELVE: Cover Reveal

December 10 release date     (inside) Graphic Designs by Allane Sinclair

TWELVE Review by Candice Louisa Daquin

From a young age I recognized something irreplaceable about the kind of writing  that wasn’t neatly packaged into a ‘eat me now’ bite. Twelve isn’t a genre, it’s a diary that has come alive. I feel as if I shouldn’t be reading it because it’s like standing in a bathroom with someone throwing up, it’s

TWELVE: a collection of poems and prose

Design by Allane Sinclair TWELVE picks up where Constant Muses ends; this is the yearlong journey of my grief and healing expressed in poems and prose. While most pieces involve my mom directly, some are just byproducts of melancholy. But dark as my days have been, there is one who keeps me tethered to the