Caryatid

Caryatid

Hannah Hinsch

Contrapposto,
I shift weight
like so much water
to the basin of my hip
and float forward--
a sheath of rock
from crown to foot.

I'd rather be relief.
Even on the frieze
above my head
nymphs run and sweat,
Amazons bear crescent shields
and lay bleeding, undying,
not yet alone.

But I am alone
beneath the entablature that
wreathes me in cornice
and architrave
as though to laurel
me in victory,
but, instead, grinds my skull
to powder, locks teeth and jaw.

A crack under the eye
and all at once
a caesarean fissure
rips down my middle,

makes me a war zone
of white powder
chunks
of shoulder, shin,
a lone
heel,
nubbed arms.

Disarticulated

I step forward
one shaking leg
after another.

Blood veins my pale thighs.
My eyes are black almonds.
A soft animal,
I cannot cry out.

Only look
at my aching ruin.

---

Hannah Hinsch
Poet & Writer

Hannah is a Seattle-based writer who graduated summa cum laude from Seattle Pacific University with a degree in English Literature and fiction. She writes across genres, and finds her impetus among Greek mythology, Old and New Testament theology, and in the green, salt-soaked Pacific Northwest.

Photography by Amanda Hanemaayer