This Side of Heaven

By Abigail Leigh

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Stripped of vision, I fumble
on the cliff-edge
against the rush and roar of ocean armies—feud
for foothold
salt and wind biting my eyes

And my outer self rips away--

A tremor shifts the mountain, my faith           too
just like my legs, my spirit
                    folds
in on itself; ground and grief
piling on top.

Into the abyss I dive
interrogate shadows, excavate
for answers.

What’s unveiled—earth’s veil
the heavens dawning as morning light
                    like brightness           after rain
an imperishable promise sprouting
over an impermanent problem

For a weighted world: eternity—light

And this assured insurance
dispels           disbelief

Suddenly, bowed valleys rise up
laden stones roll
                              away
a path through the sea—revealed
uncrushed, my soul walks           forward
does not grow weary.

I am binding hope
to my heart:
over that hill I will be,
                    eyes stretched, waiting--

And behold, a beacon
across open sea, seen
ascending, glorious!

The power of the waves
The throat of the wind
The promised sun—rising!

You are there, God
You are here.

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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)

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