The Lost Grip

<p><strong>Tempo  </strong></p><p><br></p><p>Caches of rubble are the obstacles</p><p>              so slowly geologically formed</p><p>          I took them as landmarks</p><p>                       orienting myself in accord.</p><p>But they shift under my feet at a tempo</p><p>                    I fail to notice.        </p><p>          </p><p>In <strong><em>The Lost Grip</em></strong> 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. <strong><em>The Lost Grip </em></strong>offers respite and nurtures light on the way to healing.</p><p><br></p>