Look with Wonder on the World by Jonathon Penny

Look with wonder on the world
And on the walkers in the world
Familiar and strange as if on God,
For gods they are, unknowing.

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The Trees in River Country by Sarah Dunster

The trees in river country know the wind,
and how to bend  in winter blasts. They hold
snow and take the water. They change color—
as the leaves of maples turn, so too
a sister to her brother.

There are deep roots in a certain field, grown up
on our name past—fed by ashes of Cedar.
What wounds we’ve had will bear true grain,
but you and I will not be felled
by spade or tractor chain.

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To read another LONNOL Month poem by Sarah Dunster, go here.

Spooky by Sarah Dunster

You watched her pass, the woman you
were with while you learned Poetry.
Black hair—she smiled with such grey eyes—
you watched  her pass without goodbyes,
and these hills blind me, golden; fierce
with bristling grass, smoking in the sun:
a cloud kicked up, an offering
to sanctify our suffering.

She lay down for a minute
to allow that one to come. Only
think, while holding him, a child
once held in warmth and now, exiled:
blue eyes, all. And hair like lightning.
That’s us, our full cheeks swelling,
full eyes dripping with questions still,
bellies and hearts and arms to fill.

That’s us. Black hair—she smiled with such
grey eyes. You watched her pass without
heart-ill goodbyes, at least in words.
And summer passed, and autumn turned
to place her in the pines, in heaps
of needles, sharp with what you felt
but did not say. We found her there:
ponderosas, pitch-dark like her hair.

We sang you out one icy night,
with half-shy notes of grief you would
have quickly silenced. We stood there
by your bed and sang the trio, though
you were joking when you asked; how
truly black she was beside you—
Tongue lolling, and that spooky eye
watching even as we said goodbye.

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Sarah Dunster is wife to one, mother to seven, and an author of fiction and poetry. Her
poems have appeared on the online LDS poetry blog Wilderness Interface Zone as well as in
Victorian Violet Press, Segullah Magazine, Dialogue: Journal of Mormon Thought, Psaltery
& Lyre and Sunstone Magazine. She has published two novels with Cedar Fort under their
Bonneville Books imprint: the award winning historical fiction novel Lightning Tree, and Mile
21, which is a contemporary fiction/romance novel. When she is not writing Sarah can often
be found cleaning, cooking vegetarian or international meals, holding small people in her lap,
driving kids to soccer and piano lessons, singing in local musical productions with her family
or taking long walks after dark, especially in thunderstorms.

Woinshet by Sarah Dunster

Bud of the vine, you came to me.
They named you Woinshet.
Let me see your hand; it is a sweet
soft shadow on mine. You brown ibex, leaping;
your dark eyes will laugh and roll to the side
when a stranger passes,
and your small throat is beating.
A coil, a doodle on my fingertip,
a card of silken fibers standing out on your crown.
You dart away with a quick high skip.
My yearning, and my hand that almost touches–
so close; an inch away, with the promise
of velvet, and the smell of fertile lands
that never lost their families–
They knew your throaty laugh.
Your toes–ten little nubbles–
dug in. You balanced twenty
sticks of firewood on your hip.
Now mine, you run on pavement.
You wear your hair with yellow candy
that clicks with every skip.
You take your weight in water;
water for the vine, my bud. My daughter.

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Sarah Dunster is the   mother of six children, age eight and under. They are adorable, and they bring light to her life, but writing is what keeps her sane.   Poetry has always been the essential way that Sarah connects to her own emotions through writing. In addition to poetry and fiction, Sarah’s hobbies and interests include (but are not limited to), singing, skiing, guitar, piano, environmentalism, psychology, and Toblerone.

For other poems Sarah has published on WIZ, search on her name in the search bar at the bottom of the navigation column on the left-hand side of the screen.

Photo: Emily Dunster, Sarah’s sister, took the above portrait photo of Sarah’s daughter Woinshet to accompany this poem.   Definitely click into the picture for a larger view.