Tempo
Caches of rubble are the obstacles
so slowly, geologically formed,
I took them as landmarks,
orienting myself in accord.
But they shift under my feet at a tempo
I fail to notice.
In The Lost Grip, poems are stepping stones mapping trauma to recovery, disarming convictions shaped by cultural sins of omission. At times with a painter''s eye or a dancer''s movement, Eva Zimet forms connection and reconnection. The Lost Grip offers respite and nurtures light on the way to healing.
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