We slumber heavy in the night
so long as hills are bare and white,
and what is real, is pressing. What
can you do but answer. What can
you do but take my jaw in hand
and answer. And what can I, but
know you while night visions press us, hot
in our down blanket. What cannot
be spoken we will speak with night
still resting on usâ€”your air
on me, and my warm shoulder bare
to youâ€”real, real as day is light
until we wake in morningâ€™s cold,
when mountains, rimming in the gold
of cresting sun, can no more be
deferred. What can we do but rise.
That I could stop you with my gaze
as you work your task of leaving me.
Sarah Dunster is wife to one, mother to seven, and an author of fiction and poetry. Her poems have appeared on Wilderness Interface Zone as well as in Victorian Violet Press, Segullah Magazine, Dialogue: Journal of Mormon Thought, and Sunstone Magazine. Her novel Lightning Tree was released by Cedar fort in April of 2012. When she is not writing, Sarah can often be found cleaning, cooking vegetarian meals, holding small people in her lap, or taking long, risky walks after dark, especially in thunderstorms.