What the Ark Left – a poem by Hannah Hinsch

What the Ark Left  
When you poured out your love   
like ten thousand hands, blue-throated   
Shiva at world’s end, what remained   
beneath that ark of flesh  
but bright dorsal fins, eyes lit fuchsia  
in luminous dark, a world we call alien—  
wilderness in kelp, liquid animals   
transparent to the gill, limbs   
grown from bitten wounds—  
and your crescent-moon smile, your hand   
stretched out over the amniotic world  
to welcome us home.  

Hannah Hinsch is a Seattle-based writer who has published essays in Cultural Consent and Ruminate, poems in Ekstasis and Amethyst Review, and has written for Image journal’s ImageUpdate. She was the editorial intern at Image for two years. Hannah finds that writing has always been a conversation—her work emerges in response to the word He has already spoken. She writes to witness, to be caught up in Him over and over again. She writes to be well. Find more of her work at hannahhinsch.com

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