Your
Grip on Me
by Abigail Davis
Your grip on me
was not solid. Not steel
or iron or wood. But tendrils
of smoke that clung
to the innerworkings
of my soul, attaching themselves
to my patterns
of thought, blurring
my memories, suffocating
my hopes and dreams, and
hazing over my reality.
* * * * *
Abigail Davis is a preschool teacher living in North Carolina. Her poem, “Where
Love Died,” can be found in One Page Poetry’s 2023 Anthology. She has a passion
for expressing emotions through writing whether it be poetry, journaling, or
short stories. Her joy is found in seeking solitude in nature, as well as
witnessing the antics of her two beloved cats, Tylee and Azula.
Friday, October 11, 2024
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