Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Helen Mort

THE WORD FOR SNOW

THE WORD FOR SNOW

THE WORD FOR SNOW

The Inuit have twenty-two words
for snow, I told him, but he didn’t want to hear,
didn’t raise his head from the bowl of dough,
thumbs kneading flour in a frenzy.
The lawn was freezing over, but the air stayed
empty and I wondered how the Inuit
would name this waiting –
the radio playing to itself in the bathroom,
the sound from the street of
ice-cream vans out of season
in this town where we don’t have

twenty-two words for anything,
where I learned the name
for round hills built on plastic
and bothered by seagulls, the bridge
where a man was killed in the strike
and where they want to put street lamps
to keep away the kids.
From the window, I watch
the sky as it starts to fill. In the kitchen,
dad sifts flour, over and over
as if still panning for something.
Close

THE WORD FOR SNOW

The Inuit have twenty-two words
for snow, I told him, but he didn’t want to hear,
didn’t raise his head from the bowl of dough,
thumbs kneading flour in a frenzy.
The lawn was freezing over, but the air stayed
empty and I wondered how the Inuit
would name this waiting –
the radio playing to itself in the bathroom,
the sound from the street of
ice-cream vans out of season
in this town where we don’t have

twenty-two words for anything,
where I learned the name
for round hills built on plastic
and bothered by seagulls, the bridge
where a man was killed in the strike
and where they want to put street lamps
to keep away the kids.
From the window, I watch
the sky as it starts to fill. In the kitchen,
dad sifts flour, over and over
as if still panning for something.

THE WORD FOR SNOW

Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Prins Bernhard cultuurfonds
Lira fonds
Versopolis
J.E. Jurriaanse
Gefinancierd door de Europese Unie
Elise Mathilde Fonds
Stichting Verzameling van Wijngaarden-Boot
Veerhuis
VDM
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère