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.

1. The Counsellors
2. Laundry Blues
3. They’ll say ‘Do you remember when…?’
4. Death and the Biker
5. Doggerel

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