Travel Poems by Sarah Snyder


Penobscot Bay


Thin as spider webs and barely noticed,

the morning clouds wisp the horizon.


It is the mountains that loom, the water

glossy as we skim on its back.


The paddles sweep through the sea.

And we move in the ghost


of silence. Eight kayaks

stretch out, pale and real.


About to Lift Off of the Tarmac


I remember a stuffed monkey on a wire

in a hazy house on Windsor Lane.

He was up high.


In that yard I buried the coal I stole

from the black pile toppling

out onto Second Street,


wished for a diamond,

now wait for other things—

a sign from my dead mother,


the violet flame,

right breath…

and how many fire trucks


do I have to watch heading

down the runway…and now

a Sky chef out the window


because no one stops

eating, careening above

the patterns below.


With a Polaroid Camera in Rwanda


One click let light in—

a brief exposure

of a child’s face.


A blank white

rectangle slid out,

the developing


chemicals reacting below

the glossy surface. Darkness

emerged first, muted and vague,


defining the borders,

gathering dimension—

nose, eyes, mouth.


All of the images

now tacked

or leaning


against a mud wall,

between the pages

of a grandmother’s Bible,


or warming a pocket—

four hundred bordered

faces there. Somewhere.

BIO: Sarah Dickenson Snyder has written poetry since she knew there was a form with conscious line breaks. She has two poetry collections, The Human Contract and Notes from a Nomad. Recently, poems have appeared or are forthcoming in The Comstock Review, The Main Street Rag, Chautauqua Literary Magazine, Piedmont Journal, Stirring: a Literary Journal, Whale Road Review, Front Porch, The Sewanee Review, and RHINO. In May of 2016, she was a 30/30 Poet for Tupelo Press. One poem was selected by Mass Poetry Festival Migration Contest to be stenciled on the sidewalk in Salem, MA, for the annual festival, April 2017. Another poem was nominated for Best of Net 2017.

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