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Poem by Mary Hobson


Snow in Zaraisk


A dangerous weight of snow
is overhanging my window.
It slid from the roof for a foot or two
one sunny morning.
But the frost caught it.
So there it hangs,
waiting for spring.
Embedded in the icy underside of this projection,
etched blackly, like a fly in white amber,
a twig with three berries
and a skeletal leaf,
caught by the first snow,
waits with it.
I am keeping an eye on things.
Dripping, dependent icicles have appeared.
The fall will be spectacular.

Moscow, February, 2003

Mary Hobson


Mary Hobson's other poems:
  1. Laundry Blues
  2. The Counsellors
  3. Summer in Zaraisk or Who wrote Shakespeare?
  4. Waterloo Station
  5. Now I will always know that you died


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