Jillian Sullivan is a writer from Central Otago whose work spans poetry, fiction and creative non-fiction. In this poem, first published in the New Zealand Listener, she writes of grief, the natural world, and what remains for those who carry on.

Their Arms Shall Rest Now

For Brian Turner and Sam Neill

This frigid morning.
Small puddles frozen
in circles, the metal
shine of them before
the sun rises. The
ones we love will not
wake up again. How

suddenly they left
us, those warriors
who held back the harm.
Their arms shall rest now,
while we lie awake
till midnight, night after
night, knowing they won’t

be there in the dawn.
They are safe now. And
we shall walk out of
our rooms, lift mantles
from the pale sky, drink
coffee, wait for the

sun to rise, flex our
arms, feel on shoulders
all we must carry
on and do (as they
would urge us): to speak
with loud voices, to
tremble at the purity

of each small life; a
pebble of water
melting, the backbones
of trees
standing in the light.

First published in the New Zealand Listener.