A Poem for Children Killed on a Bus
by Sarah Dickenson Snyder

I used to feel tucked in the way back of a station wagon
in the late night or early morning of a ride north,
sounds of muffled voices as we hurtled, swaying with each turn
feeling like I was in a missile far away from any place I knew.


But their bus was going the wrong way
and these four children were yanked
out of a careening window. So safe I felt 
in the shell of a car.
That's how I like to think of them, 
feeling safe
as they left this world, having just told about a kiss,
then floating from this life
the way I imagine my prayers sweeping out my bedroom window
into the darkness
touching the line of light between sky and sea
never landing on this earth.