The forest is a mother is a witch is a womb.

Here, the trees hold impossible magic; their roots are a haunted house, a spiral, a three-knock ritual on the fairy-tale door. When you wander into its arms, it’s important to surrender: eat the apple but protect your name. The darkness will only choke you faster if you try to resist.

Beneath the spellwork and the silence of these woods, you’ll find poetry that acts as a portal. Kearns births a unique blend of whispered silhouettes and blood-soaked runes, her words the screams of audible drownings. Inspired by themes of motherhood, witchcraft, and the divine feminine, this collection dissects, rebuilds, and unleashes a vision of female empowerment and beauty, all while embracing the shadow and savoring the scars of a prolonged death.

This collection is an homage to the flickering light in a cave, to the introspection of our bodies, and the astrology of the mind. Unable to look away, readers will confront the mirror of grief and madness, unpack the crystal-laden tears of confronted family lineages, and walk down uncharted paths of forged hope and connection. Proceed softly, dream carefully, and if you get to the end, make sure you thank the spirits for keeping you alive.