Sarah Faraday's Dilemma
3 a.m., a candle flickers beside our bed.
Michael is fitful. Dearest husband, never
have I endured such pain. Up and down I tread,
nightly, uneven floors; pray to be delivered
from this agonizing: I contemplate with dismay
the loss of our Sandemanian birthright.
I cosseted you through marriage’s dark valleys:
the breakdown; childlessness to my sisters’ surfeit.
And if we are left to wither out in the cold,
will I have to choose between loyalty to church
and beloved husband? I am snug in the fold;
blindfold, perhaps, lacking my husband’s searching
nature. But, questioning scripture? My heart groans
at your need, always, for testing. Faith, faith alone.