Everest At Night
Jennifer Carter
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A sky without stars
to guide us.
Questions pelt us
like snow
riding an unrelenting northeasterly gale.
Can we reach summit by morning?
Doubt-filled, but
clinging to my arrogance,
I make stubborn camp
on the floor next to your bed.
The silence extends over us in universes
of reconsideration.
My mind is a crevasse, disappearing
hope
into its dark, gaping mouth.
At this height, surrender seems inevitable:
to retreat into its depths, into goodbye,
or wait for avalanche? I falter
at the edge,
stare down the wind …
you whisper from the stillness,
halting its advance,
suspending my body like a gasp
over silhouette of impossible rock
to watch heaven’s curtain disappear
in my place.
I cannot move—into or away from the abyss—
frozen by the gaze of a solitary star,
approaching from light years off.
I know you know.
There are galaxies
between us.
But even so…
Come here sweetheart.
My spirit crawls to you at light speed
I’m here! I’m here!
and we fall together,
spiraling into universes
of reconsideration.
I am clutching
at the rock you stand on,
scaling your forgiveness
like a cliff side,
hoping there is still some part
of me left
to offer you balance:
a hand for you to hold,
some secret
too soft
to leave behind.
