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To let the words rise up
and
out
is a different kind of wounding.
It's the resetting of a broken bone
the draining of a cut gone rancid
once you start, there is no turning back
maybe this is why
we resist the blank page,
choosing instead the growing infection
of words pressed up against our soul,
unused.
For as long as she can remember, poetry has been a way for Magdalena Lyonne to process her environment. This book is no exception. From finding her voice to reckoning with trauma to opening up to what she calls the Wild Mother, this collection is for those who can feel the whispers of the goddess calling them deeper still.
We writers howl and heal porcelain bone—and that is what Lyonne aims to do with her first book of poetry.
To let the words rise up
and
out
is a different kind of wounding.
It's the resetting of a broken bone
the draining of a cut gone rancid
once you start, there is no turning back
maybe this is why
we resist the blank page,
choosing instead the growing infection
of words pressed up against our soul,
unused.
For as long as she can remember, poetry has been a way for Magdalena Lyonne to process her environment. This book is no exception. From finding her voice to reckoning with trauma to opening up to what she calls the Wild Mother, this collection is for those who can feel the whispers of the goddess calling them deeper still.
We writers howl and heal porcelain bone—and that is what Lyonne aims to do with her first book of poetry.
