Poem | Rest

(Jordan Graff/Unsplash)

Swiveling in our Sabbath-rest,
we are impressed
by the slow,
winkless kindness that glows
slightly when we still.
No thrill,
no sudden
unrelated frill, no madman
trumpet-blast.
One silver cast
of calm,
bracing us with the flavorless balm
of god.
It’s odd.
The only brightness,
it took this long to notice.

Published in the December 2021 issue: 
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Magda Andrews-Hoke is a Philadelphia-born poet currently living in St. Andrews, Scotland, where she is pursuing an MLitt in Theology and the Arts. She was a 2019 recipient of the Frederick Mortimer Clapp Fellowship.

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