In the Night by Sarah Dunster

Snowy ground2 by Kim Hansen via Wikimedia Commons Images

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 us €”your air
on me, and my warm shoulder bare
to you €”real, real as day is light

until we wake in morning’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.

LONNOL Month officially begins!

Valentine_777 Woman with Bird3

February need not be
cold, drab march toward spring.
Green through the heart, unchafe the flower;
tune up mind’s fiddle string.

For there is life in life this hour
and dance to dance this day.
The slightest reach of thought gives power
to meet the arms of May.

Let no one thought linger the frost,
or snow befall the mood.
Turning the mind with heart will shower
deep spring’s similitude.

hjerte by Elizabeth Pinborough

if a heart broke once forever would it
not be a dead thing?

yea, a heart is a lively creature, filled
with quiet musings,
subtle thrummings,
murmurous hummings.

aye, she is rapturous and verdant,
swindling common sense
with fictive branches
white with blossoms.

yet, she is the taproot of things,
descending through
the earth warm
with worms, and moist.

nay, she does not die.

hjerte, mixed media, by Elizabeth Pinborough
(Click image twice to enlarge)


portrait, Elizabeth PinboroughElizabeth Pinborough graduated from Yale Divinity School with a Master of Arts degree in religion and literature. She desires to resurrect women’s voices from the past, and through her writing she seeks to create a space for feminist historical and theological exploration. Her poetic journeys include “A Shaker Sister’s Hymnal,” which first appeared in Dialogue and which now appears in Fire in the Pasture: Twenty-first Century Mormon Poets. Most recently she collected a series of essays and photographs titled Habits of Being: Mormon Women’s Material Culture, which is being published by Exponent II in spring 2012. Her credo is, “Snails are people, too.”

Old Woman’s Instructions to a Girl in Love

Catch a white mare and bridle her
With an ivy bridle; braid her mane
With marigolds; go in the slender
Light with her to the water tender
Where the fish rise and count the flames.
Free the mare; if she trumpets like a swan,
Say your beloved’s name and pray till dawn.

Mask your body with horsemint; turn
Away from the sun; do not go toward
It all day; do not wash or burn.
Fiddlehead of the hart’s tongue fern €”
Seethe it in milk; eat it from a gourd.
If you meet him keep your body mute.
Pick no flower dove and eat no fruit.

Hare, Hounds, Hare

(for James)

When the little girls on the playground
threatened the boys with a kissing,
and they, slick with danger, ran
like wry hares, he made short work of it,
got ready his cheeks, mistook a step.

Now such generosity is lost on them,
his awkwardness thought sabotage,
and untimely glances which have
followed him since loving boyhood
turned like Actaeon’s hounds.

It has been harder game for all
since the older, changed child gave out,
golden, the new rule: each should turn,
by moments, hare, hound, hare.
It’s a bad curse with two cries.

He gives tongue to rough myth or shrieks
in briars as dreamed dogs bear down.

Still may the old knowing that grows
men’s hearts fix him on a bone,
his shape no more dissolve mid-step.
Old form shakes him like this, by the blood.
He comes from folk who once wived as wolves.

February is love of nature, nature of love month

February is a big month on Wilderness Interface Zone.   First, in honor of Valentine’s Day, all month long we’ll be soliciting poetry, essays, blocks of fiction, art, music (mp3s) or other media that address the subject of love while including references to nature.   Also, we’re interested in works about nature that include references to love.   That’s a wide gamut.   Submissions may include original work or favorite works by others that have entered public domain.   So if you have a sonnet you’ve written to someone important–even and perhaps especially your dog–please consider sending it to WIZ.   See the submissions page in the navigation bar above.

Also, February 24th is WIZ’s birthday.   We’ll be one year old.   Yay!   If you have ideas about how to celebrate this important milestone, please e-mail your suggestions or offer them in the comments below.

Spring is definitely on the way.   February is a good month to warm things up.   Got love?   Publish it abroad.