[Matt Q]

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".

[Mark McDonnell]

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

[R. Nemo Hill]

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

[Nick McRae]

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.

[Hilary Biehl]

I love this, Matt.

[Jim Moonan]

.
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.

.

[Julie Steiner]

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.

[R. Nemo Hill]

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

[Joe Crocker]

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"?

[Nick McRae]

Originally Posted by R. Nemo Hill

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

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