Poetry
“Poetry is the way we help give name to the nameless so it can be thought. The farthest horizons of our hopes and fears are cobbled by our poems, carved from the rock experiences of our daily lives.”
-Audre Lorde
Dear Dad: You’re Dead, Dear Dead: You’re Dad
Poems, Essays, and Reflections from a Youngest Daughter
by Audrey Jean
In what began as a letter to her deceased father, Dear Dad: You’re Dead, Dear Dead: You’re Dad was only ever supposed to be a therapy experiment—a way to hold space for the grief, anger, and every little emotion in between that felt as if it were bleeding into every facet of freshman author Audrey Jean’s life.
Now, in her first collection of poetry, she aims to take that space and transform it into more than just a reminder of what might have—could have, should have—been. Blending together her family’s and her personal past, Audrey’s poems twist and adapt humor with hurt, pain with purpose, and tarot with transformation. Dear Dad: You’re Dead, Dear Dead: You’re Dad brings together an ache for healing, a need to reconcile that which can only be done by herself, and a desire to grow and learn who she is without the shadows of her father, forefathers, and fictional fathers in her way.
Where to purchase:
“This poetry collection has it all: dark humor, Taylor Swift references, tarot spreads, and lines that stop you in your tracks. It’s a stark look at family legacies and how they shape us–for better or worse.
You’ll find yourself halfway through without realizing it and eager for a second read at the end.”
“Thought-provoking and heart-wrenching, this collection of poetry broke me down into little pieces and read like a conversation with my therapist in the best way possible.
This book is for anyone who’s ever felt unloved, not-enough, and through it all, proud of who you’ve become after the wreckage.
A must read.”
“Yeah, no, five stars for sure.”
“As someone who had a father who inspired large parts of my anxiety when he was alive, Audrey’s words touched very deep parts of my heart, and kept me reeling throughout. You wouldn’t think it should take 3+ days to read 90 pages, but the words demanded to be sat with. To be internalized. To be carried. And be acknowledged.
I’ll close with one of the lines that hit me hardest, from ‘when do we stop counting?’
’What is the past if not your father’s voice in your ear whispering when you mess up?’”