For the Women

by Sarah Dickenson Snyder

 
Fear rolling over a voice can eclipse
the truth wanting out. Some of us find
the way back by expanding our ribs
as Eve did. How she cleared her clouded
throat, opened her mouth, and spoke.
She saw no apparitions, of course.
There were no spirits yet, only raccoons,
wolves, the winged in her world,
that rock where she sat and decided.
The smoothness of its surface—
it could be a museum piece:
Here is where the first woman
watched a world unfold
and became hungry.


* * * * *

Sarah Dickenson Snyder lives in Vermont, 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 (2023). Poems have been nominated for Best of Net and Pushcart Prizes. Recent work is in Rattle, Lily Poetry Review, and RHINO. sarahdickensonsnyder.com