A LILY OVER GLASS Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they toil not, neither do they spin... Matthew 6:28 KJV I. GROVE Here, there is only a release. A falling against the space at the center where rain dapples my face and all is quiet. Silver mountain water shapes my voice, caught in swallow’s call. Let the moment fall over you, swell over your feet. It asks only for your release. II. GROUNDWATER Notice where it pulls and where it stops to curve around you, this current from fracture. Made from the silver skin of deep earth, it grounds you and keeps you afloat. A lily over glass Suspended. III. SURFACING Glass pearled in mist breaks over my head. Brine-drenched arms reach, hands splay toward nameless shore. I watch the seagull, a specter in gray, bow to the water’s edge.
Hannah Hinsch is a Seattle-based writer who graduated summa cum laude from Seattle Pacific University with a degree in English Literature and fiction. She was the editorial intern at Image journal, a leading quarterly that joins art and faith, for two years. Hannah writes across genres, and finds her impetus among Greek mythology, the Old and New Testament, and in the green, salt-soaked Pacific Northwest. Hannah not only sees writing as an exercise in aesthetics and attentiveness, she leans into writing as a way of knowing, a hermeneutic of God.
Amethyst Review 