Remember This

Touching her skin, her feet old & flat, toenails yellowed,
using the cream I sent her months ago like dipping my fingers
into soft butter to massage her toes, her fallen arches. Remember this:
her eyes closing & a small soft sound with each exhale. This might be
forgiveness. Might be love. Remember this because with it release,
she'll breathe for another week, but you’ll have decades to untether
what you hold. Remember this & know about evolution, the movement
of glaciers & shifting continents. Everything settles with touch.

Sarah Dickenson Snyder carves in stone & rides her bike; travel opens her eyes. She has four poetry collections, The Human Contract (2017), Notes from a Nomad (nominated for the Massachusetts Book Awards 2018), With a Polaroid Camera (2019), and Now These Three Remain (nominated for the Massachusetts Book Awards 2023). Poems have been nominated for Best of Net and Pushcart Prizes. Work is in Rattle, Verse Daily, and RHINO. sarahdickensonsnyder.com