By Abigail Leigh
this skin reaches—rounding too long the past
corner, it sags.
these eyes search—hounding too far the future hill
they go blind.
My body rotting—rots
yet declines each offer
Why? Between withered lips, weeping
acquires appetite: only bitter
But despite the acid ache within
my cracked chest
its apathy at brewed breath, I find life
one more from this neglected heart
after a promise
of a new day: thick with honey
of sweetened streams and green
undying meadows, lush
with root of revival;
for the worn—a whisper of warmth woven in wind
And I wonder at my wonder’s
ability to survive
even amidst shadow-steeped days,
what once appeared
—the tender bud of my body rising
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.
Abigail's other work on Foreshadow:
A Deeper Calling (Poetry, October 2022)
The Mountain Sermon (Poetry, October 2022)
The Fruitless Tenant (Poetry, October 2022)
This Side of Heaven (Poetry, November 2022)
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