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.
(Jordan Graff/Unsplash)
Published in the December 2021 issue:
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Magda Andrews-Hoke lives in Philadelphia. She studied theology and the arts at the University of St. Andrews and was a 2019 recipient of the Frederick Mortimer Clapp Fellowship for Poetry.
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