A son lost in this space,
mesmerized, content to sit
close to a bookshelf as if it offers heat—
with presents to open. Each page turned
with small fingers, gliding eyes across
an opened expanse, lifting paper until
he begins another. Books pile by his side—
a tower he’s building about to buckle,
the weight of what he’s doing on his own.
Sarah Dickenson Snyder has been writing poetry since she knew there was a form with conscious line breaks. She is an English teacher, a mother, and a participant in poetry workshops. She was selected to be part of the Bread Loaf Writers’ Conference and has had several poems published in places like The Comstock Review, Bloodroot Literary Magazine, West Trade Review, The Main Street Rag, Mothers Always Write, Passager, and other journals, reviews, and book anthologies. In May of 2016, she was a 30/30 Poet for Tupelo Press.