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.