MY ROOM (AND OTHER WOMBS) (paperback)

C. Heyne is a genderqueer writer from Sunrise, Florida. He is the recipient of the William Morgan Poetry Award and the Tom Kuster Creative Writing Award. His poetry and hybrid work have appeared in Sundog Lit, DreamPOP, Taco Bell Quarterly, 3Elements, Moot Point Magazine, The Oakland Review, and elsewhere. Currently, he lives in Hoboken, NJ (with his puppy Kairi) and is working on a full-length project. You can follow him on Twitter @craigheyne + Instagram @craigheyne_, or visit c-heyne.com.

"‘my room (and other wombs)’ postures intimacy as the webbing between all things, good and bad. It emphasizes the emotional thresholds where we are most vulnerable—when we see ourselves in a rush of birds, waiting grass, and our favorite songs. But despite the ache and emptiness Heyne writes of, the poems also leave space for their counterparts—and we see how the world is a constellation of interconnectedness, a murmuration of love."

— Samantha Fain, author of “Coughing Up Planets” and “sad horse music" 

"‘my room (and other wombs)’ holds carefully the task of unravelling reality—both its embellishments and its misgivings. It exists in the liminal space between oxidized trauma and the resplendence of healing, where rebellion and world-building blend together into a new windowpane for what reality can be. Heyne hold us as readers and guides us as a true commander of the page, through a maelstrom of pop culture, nature, and mythos. They pave an invitation to a space outside of time, crafted for those with broken bodies, tempered souls, and adulterated spirits. In the way of a friend, Heyne shows us why it hurts to be human, why we yearn to be held, and where we can find proof that it's still worth going forward. If Taylor Swift is Heyne's anthem, then Heyne is my birdsong."

— Swati Sudarsan, author and editor at Moot Point Magazine 

"'and where i buried the bird does not matter. do not go searching for the bird,' begins C. Heyne’s collection, gently leading the reader from one environment to the next, each a poignant examination of the body, a history, and a room. Each poem is draped in dreams and ghosts, disruptions of linearity, and experimentation with form. I read this collection in a single breathless evening and immediately returned to the beginning, the haunting last line echoing in my head, 'i can say it. but for now, just for now, / i’ll hold it.'”

— Sam Moe, author of “Heart Weeds” and “Grief Birds”