We mistook our wanting for need,
thought we needed bigger cars & bigger houses,
put all our care for the Earth in a small basket,
stuffed it in the back of our walk-in closet
& stripped our planet of trees, of clean water,
of pure air, but there is a vestige of our Eden—
fly into the Amazon basin, see what the word meant
before we ordered everything that we thought
we needed but only wanted & had it delivered
the same day. See the spread of wings
of the unhindered, the clearness of water
sluicing & alive. Breathe that sky.
Want that home. Need that home.
—
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
