Hannah in the Red Sea

Amy Spungen

She leans her face into the water,

mouthpiece and mask in place.

Ambient sounds instantly mute

into a blessing of blue silence.

She takes a breath —

hears the amplified inhalation —

feels the flutter of her heart.

Pushing off, she glides for a moment,

illuminated from the depths

by the light-refracted surface.

Her long hair undulates as she strokes.

In such sacred aquatic space

she who is encumbered on land

— by so much, by so very much —

moves fluidly, limbs mottled with light.

Tendrils of sea anemones beckon.

A caution of sea urchins bristles nearby.

One solitary fish hangs motionless in the shadows.

Time stops as she gazes, entranced.

Too soon must Hannah part from the Red Sea,

which has lovingly anointed its oblivious penitent,

casting its cleansing spell in a ritual bath.