When I try my best not to say “fuck” as in
it was so fucking adorable when David
used to belt out James Taylor’s
“Shed a Little Light” standing on top
of the coffee table in the living room,
singing into a wooden spoon
as if it were a microphone,
his shirt off, his hair a mass of brown curls.
When I try to act my age,
even though I am wearing
a jean jacket and everyone
else looks a little nicer.
How two families join each other
when a wedding is about to happen
and you all try to be on your best behavior.
How maybe I want to get the award
for the best mother-in-law from the woman
my son is about to marry by making her breakfast
and giving her a necklace I hope she loves.
How she looks at him and he, her.
How it feels a little like a handoff,
not that I am going anywhere,
at least I fucking hope not.
Sarah Dickenson Snyder lives in Vermont, carves in stone, & rides her bike. Travel opens her eyes. She has three poetry collections, The Human Contract (2017), Notes from a Nomad (nominated for the Massachusetts Book Awards 2018), and With a Polaroid Camera (2019) with another book forthcoming in 2023. Poems have been nominated for Best of the Net and a Pushcart Prize. Recent work is in Rattle, Lily Poetry Review, and RHINO. See sarahdickensonsnyder.com.
**We do our best to preserve the integrity of each poem; however, due to programming limitations, some poems may read differently on a mobile phone and in certain browsers. For best viewing, use Chrome on a desktop/laptop.