poem
 

Snow

We start, as always, with the weather. Rain
her end, while here the snow falls fat and white,
a thing of wonder. Through the window pane,
the swirling flakes obscure the city night.

She can’t talk long, she says, or she’ll be late
to Sunday Mass. It’s Saturday, I say,
and look outside: it’s dark. Wait till it’s light.
Uncertain, she concedes the change of day,

and starts in on her list of things to ask:
how is my health? my partner? and my son?
She wears her easy questions like a mask.
I work to fill the space. The snow falls on.

My mother, anxious that she’s missing Mass,
hangs up the phone. I stand and watch the snow.
It’s childhood snow: the settling kind. The mess
beneath all covered up, at least for now.



------------------
S4L1, capitalised "Mass".

Well, this is very beautiful Matt and I wouldn't change a thing. Except maybe the word "easy" which seems a bit too...well, easy.

Mark

Thumbs up, as usual, Matt.
I especially love the delayed use of the word mother, an adept narrative technique.

The ending is quite beautiful, with its gently brutal honesty.

Nemo

I also really like this but do wonder about the use of the word fat to describe snow. On one hand it feels a little out of place to me, but on the other it strikes the right balance of being direct and casual, in congruence with the rest of the poem. I want to suggest changing it, but I'm not sure what else you'd use. Being overly poetic likely isn't the way you want to go.

I love this, Matt.

.
The juxtaposition of snow falling and the conversation/relationship of mother and child is simply, beautifully rendered/imagined. Another poem of yours that I wish I had written.

S2 is where the heart of the poem is, imo. So much is implied and is latent in that stanza. It nearly tips the poem over with its heaviness, but doesn't. The poem moves on. The snow continues to fall, finally covering over what is unsettling in S2.

In S4 I was startled to see the N standing, it seems, outside in the snow, like a child would. It may not be your intent, but it works beautifully for me.

The final words, "at least for now" are both unsettling and comforting.

You've worked magic with this one.

.

Matt, I love the way decapitalizing "mass" in its second appearance turns "missing mass" into a physical health concern, while also reinforcing the initial mental concern of the date mixup (and perhaps that she has forgotten the earlier correction).

For me, the mention of "fat" snowflakes took on a different connotation on the second reading, because of the still-to-come "missing mass". The whole poem is gently, beautifully understated.

And I don't think fat is an unusual descriptive choice for snow, fat flakes is an often-heard yet still quite evocative term.

Nemo

As others have said, this is v well-crafted and packs a great deal in, without getting busy or wordy.

Fat snowflakes worked well for me.

Instead of "easy" questions, how about "humdrum" or "deadpan"?

I agree, it just felt a little off to me. Matt's mileage may vary.

I was wondering about replacing "her easy" with "familiar"... Like Mark, I thought easy was maybe a tad too-too.

Love the poem, though. Understated but powerful, like others have said. And well-crafted and deeper than the straightforward diction might suggest.

When I struggled to find something helpful to say, I wondered about the final sentence fragment. It would be easy enough to link it into the preceding sentence or make it whole ("beneath is," "beneath's all"); however (grammar-fascist though I may be), I'm not at all sure that it's fragmentariness isn't part of its power.

Cheers,
--Simon

It's a wonderful poem, Matt. I took "mask of easy questions" to imply that they are easy for her to remember and to say; she can let you do most of the talking so that you will not notice what is wrong with her.

Susan

Hi, Matt—

I really like this piece. You load a great deal of complex characterization into just a few lines of simple, straightforward language. I like the pararhymes (late/light, mass/mess) and eye rhymes (son/on, snow/now) which create an undercurrent of tension.

I was going to point out the inconsistent capitalization of “Mass” and “mass,” but Julie’s post clarified your subtle intent.

I’m okay with “easy questions” if you mean to imply that the mother is sticking to her familiar and rehearsed script to conceal her incipient dementia. If you intended to suggest her reluctance to really find out about possibly upsetting things, you might use “formal questions.”

Many Catholic Churches have Vigil Masses on Saturday evenings. If your intent was to show the mother’s serious confusion, you might pick a different weekday.

Lovely work.

Glenn

Hello, Matt,

This is elegantly simple yet deeply resonant—your pacing and flow feel effortless, and the understated emotional weight lands beautifully.

One thing that gave me pause was "a thing of wonder" in the first stanza. While I understand the contrast between snow's beauty and its ordinariness, “wonder” feels unearned at that moment—especially since snow is so commonplace.

That said, I don’t think "wonder" should be discarded outright—rather, I wonder if it would better serve the poem later, in place of "childhood snow" in the last stanza. Swapping “wonder” and “childhood” between the first and last stanzas could heighten the narrative progression:

• In the opening, "childhood snow" could subtly foreshadow nostalgia, adding an early hint of personal connection.
• In the closing, replacing “childhood snow” with "a thing of wonder" would make the realization more poignant—it has been earned through the journey of the poem, especially with the mother’s presence adding layers of memory and reflection.

Additionally, placing both "childhood" and "mother" in the last stanza feels a bit heavy-handed—as if both revelations arrive at once. Letting "childhood" enter the poem earlier makes the ending feel more balanced and naturally unfolding, rather than stacking both emotional cues in the final lines.

Just a thought! Regardless, this is a beautifully crafted poem.

Cheers,
...Alex

I like this one a lot, Matt. I love the first line. And I like how it sets up all that transpires afterward.

Rick

I should clarify/expand on my thoughts regarding "easy" (because it's provoked some discussion).

I agree that you probably want "easy" in the sense that others have suggested, that the mother uses these questions as a rehearsed script that she relies on to disguise her burgeoning memory loss. But something about the word made me hear it also in the sense of facile or superficial, almost like it was a criticism of the mother. You might want this added meaning but if not I wonder if "simple" might work better?

Mark

Mark, Nick, Nemo, Hilary, Jim, Julie, Joe, Simon, Susan, Glenn, Alex, Rick,

Thanks everyone,

I’m glad this is working well for you all.

Mark, Joe, Simon, Glenn

I had wondered if "she wears her easy questions as a mask" line would convey what I wanted here, and I wonder if it isn't coming across to everyone.

My intentions were as Susan read them. They're "her easy questions" -- easy for her to fall back on, rather than easy for the N: it's easier for her to ask questions and listen. And also, I want convey the apparent ease which which they come. Both of these things mask the extent of her confusion. Talking to her, you wouldn’t know she was struggling or how confused she was (except when things like confusion about day/time occur). But there may well be a better way to convey what I'm after.

I've yet to decide if I want to change "easy", but I appreciate the suggestions. Simon, I think "familiar" could work, and it would be true, but I don't know if does enough to convey the ease/easiness. Mark, I hadn't heard anything critical or dismissive in "easy", so it's useful to know you did. What I'm after is that not so much that they're simple, as in uncomplicated, but more that it's an easy (as in unchallenging, not difficult) way for her to engage in conversation -- and the apparent ease with which she asks them. Likely I'm massively overthinking this. And what I've written probably doesn't convey all I want it to. I may well come back in a week or six and end up going with "simple" or "familiar".

Nemo

I'm glad the delayed mention of the mother worked for you. In my first draft I'd named her sooner.

Nick

There might be something better than "fat", but I can't think what. I want to convey that the flakes were large, substantial. I guess I could use "thick", but then it sounds more like I'm talking about the fallen snow, rather than the falling flakes. Nemo and Joe, thanks for letting me know that "fat" works for you.

Hilary

Thank you. That's good to hear.

Jim

I’d intended him to be stood at the window. I hadn't considered him outside. But outside works too, I think. It's childlike, as you say.

Julie,

That's an interesting reading! To be honest, I just assumed that "Sunday Mass" was a proper noun, and that "mass" wasn't, and that's the only reason I didn't capitalise it. Googling, I see that the convention is to always capitalise it. So I have done now. (Though it still seems wrong to me, atheist that I am!).

Susan

Thanks for letting me know how "easy" came across for you. I'm glad it worked as intended.

Glenn,

Yes, Saturday evening Mass is technically (canonically) the first Mass of Sunday, in that it fulfils the obligation to go to Church on Sunday. And I did wonder about this, whether it might confuse the reader. But I hope the poem makes it clear that a) it's Saturday, and b) she thinks it's Sunday. Or did it not for you?

I could I guess change the day. I guess I could have "it's Friday, though, I say" ... But it makes her sound more confused. "Saturday" is more true-to-life. She's one day out. She hasn't lost all sense of where she is in the week. She knows Sunday morning Mass is approaching soon, and that's why she's anxious.

I had considered "morning Mass" as an alternative, but then it could be any day of the week. But then again maybe her being told it’s Saturday and night time makes it clear enough that it’s Sunday morning mass she’s wanting to go to and better highlights the night/day confusion?

Alex

Ah, maybe where you live! It rarely snows here. That was the only real snow we had this winter, and it had stopped falling by the morning and was gone in a day or so. Some years we don't get any that settles. So, it's quite exciting when it happens, and I really did watch it through the window with a sense of wonder.

Interesting idea to swap the wonder and the childhood reference. I have had a play with it. I don't know that I prefer having "childhood" to foreshadow what's coming. Also, "the settling kind" feels to me like it needs to come at the end, since at the beginning nothing yet has happened to unsettle him -- and I'm hoping to imply the phone call does -- and "the settling kind" doesn't seem to work in combination with "a thing of wonder" if I move the latter to the end (since it's the falling snow and not the settling that is a thing of wonder). But like I say, an interesting idea. I'll keep playing with it.

Rick

Many thanks. To be honest, I hadn't noticed the double read on the first line when I wrote it.


Thanks again everyone.

Matt

What about still or some variant of calm, which implies fat snow without saying it outright.

Quite beautiful Matt

Hi, Matt—

I think the fact that it is dark out and she thinks she is late for Sunday morning Mass makes her sound more confused than simply mixing up the day of the week.

Even though it is possible (in many places - some smaller or rural churches might not have the option) to meet the Sunday obligation by attending Mass on Saturday evening, the mother would probably not be anxious about missing it if she were planning on attending a Saturday evening Mass, since she would have opportunities the following day. I personally think it works as is.

Putting on my pedant shoes and thinking a little further about it, I think my issue is that it feels a little too strong in it's context without really adding much value to the line. It draws unwanted focus when I think you want that modifier to be a little more fluid and cohesive with the line.

People do describe snow as fat, and maybe it's more common in certain regions, but it's not a term I hear too often. So to me it's not completely out of the ordinary, but maybe a touch of an unusual descriptor which I found distracting.

My pedantic two cents.

Great work, Matt. The last stanza is a great ending.

Hi, Matt,

I haven't read anyone else's comments so forgive me if I repeat previous comments.

First, I like this poem a lot. The atmosphere it creates is palpably somber, and I feel that, as the poem moves along, the "room" of the poem grows increasingly darker. This is such a wonderful poem.

My only thought is that the poem sets up an expectation in S1 for true rhyme throughout. I can, and would like to, make a case that the movement toward near-rhyme is a function of the poem, showcasing that communication between the two personas in the poem is imperfect. And if I were teaching this poem to my lit class, that's exactly what I would say about this poem.

So, while I do think that setting up the poem as you do in S1 might be a liability, I think the grace and deftness of this poem overcomes that.

Thank you so much for posting this.

A. B.

Nick, Jan, Glenn, Hilary, and Ashley,

Many thanks for your comments.

Nick,

Thanks for coming back. And useful to know that "fat" is bugging you. I'm not following this, though:
How would "still" or "calm", imply large, heavy ("fat") flakes?

This is what I think the size of the snowflakes adds: The N is looking out of his window watching the snow falling. I want to make it clear that these are big flakes. It's a proper snowfall; it's more wonderous that a flurry of tiny flakes, and also it will settle. And the falling of these large flakes obscures the city night, which tiny flakes would struggle to do. And I'm hoping this both pre-echoes the covering up of mess in the final S and suggests the obscuration that dementia brings.

Jan,

Thanks, that's good to hear.

Glenn and Hilary,

Thanks for coming back to let me know it was clear to both of you that the mother was confused about the day and time. Because if that doesn't come across, the poem is in trouble. I do want the reader to recognise cognitive decline, if not actual dementia.

John,

Thanks, John. I'm pleased it works for you.

Ashley,

I'm glad the move from perfect towards imperfect rhyme works for you. If I'm honest, I hadn't really thought about why it didn't trouble me, but I like your justification. I guess it could maybe also be seen in terms of the progressive deterioration of dementia.


Thanks again, all

Matt

I've experienced some snow in my day and my experience is that larger flakes usually fall more slowly as they're less dense and experience more resistance when falling. Smaller snowflakes are usually lighter and denser and fall more quickly, and when there is a storm this is often the type of snow we'll see. Larger flakes are more common on quiet days.

So when I'm experiencing a slow and calm snow the flakes are almost always large. There is a kind of stillness you experience when watching them compared to rain or a snowstorm.