sarah dickenson snyder

Tell the Truth

Lucy Brock-Broido says to herself. And me. 

I collect rocks because I am greedy and want 

a little piece of everywhere I go. I like smoothness, 

coolness, the way stones are contained alone 

or stacked with others. I am still thinking 

about beauty. Losing it. Witnessing it. Crying 

because of it. Did angels really save me 

when I was choking on a highway by myself 

after midnight? Two abortions propelled me 

to this moment. I have two children 

I cannot imagine not on this planet. 

I keep digging for regret, trying to repair 

before I go. Of the trillions of lives 

I could have had. It’s this one. 

Bone on bone. The glide through water 

on a narrow boat, knees bent, then pushing back, 

one eagle sailing above.