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By Abigail Leigh though soul-sodden with heavied load I felt myself a man who could walk across these waters, so steadied would—make it to the other side. Like lightning, doubt struck instead of faith, which away from me drifted as sea ledge, stumbling broke dark tongue of depths dipped in to swallow (body) to bottom of belly of belief. Eyesmuddied by salt of circumstance turned to a watery grave. How hastily flood of mouth storms with rage against the name who named the storms, yet still this storm knows its namer therefore: Your Name over a thrush of flood and flurry my voice calls out then thundering across the deep —YOUR VOICE-- calling my name: “Come” not seeing, but seen towards your steadfastness I step out in faith. Abigail Leigh is a harpist and poet from Oregon. As a self-proclaimed paradox, both a creative and analytical being, she draws inspiration from life's dichotomies: the belief that light and darkness, growth and decay, and joy and sorrow travel in tandem. Every season has a story to tell, and she writes because she is committed to unveiling truth from learned experiences. Her poetry has been published in Darling Magazine, Black Fox Literary Magazine, Equinox Biannual Journal and Clayjar Review.
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