I invent new fears
especially when I am alone
in the dark. Last night I woke
and thought the murderer
still uncaught nearby
was hiding in our garage.
I paced the quiet,
shadowed house,
trying to see through
the garage windows
for any flicker of light
from his phone. Or maybe
he was in our truck,
asleep on the back seat.
Then I looked up,
into the sky
above the treetops.
A sparkling there,
the starriest sky
I’d ever seen.
I stared and breathed.
How a swath of stars —
something so far away —
can feel like a rope flung out
to save you.
Click here to read Sarah Dickenson Snyder on the origin of the poem.
Image by Loïse Raoult on unsplash.com, licensed under CC 2.0.
After years in the classroom, Sarah Dickenson Snyder now carves in stone, sculls on the Connecticut River, and rides her bike. Travel opens her eyes. She has five poetry collections: The Human Contract (2017), Notes from a Nomad (nominated for the Massachusetts Book Awards 2018), With a Polaroid Camera (2019), Now These Three Remain (nominated for the Massachusetts Book Awards 2023), and To Eve (Nixes Mate Review 2026). Poems have been nominated for Best of Net and Pushcart Prizes. Work is in Rattle, Verse Daily, and RHINO. sarahdickensonsnyder.com
Latest posts by Sarah Dickenson Snyder (see all)
- At Night - March 14, 2026
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- In the Realm of Fear - April 23, 2021