Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Paul Henry

THE SNOW DOME

THE SNOW DOME

THE SNOW DOME

First sun, then snow . . . my father floats up the lane
in white jeans, a white rose in his claw.
He cuts a Lear-like figure, drifting alone
through the sun and snow.

‘Wherever your mother goes, I follow,’
he mutters, brushing the icing from her stone,
its doorstep to a colder house. It snows

and shines about our ornamental scene.
We can’t see for the petals of the rose.
He says she kissed his bald head in the lane,
first with sun, then snow.
Close

THE SNOW DOME

First sun, then snow . . . my father floats up the lane
in white jeans, a white rose in his claw.
He cuts a Lear-like figure, drifting alone
through the sun and snow.

‘Wherever your mother goes, I follow,’
he mutters, brushing the icing from her stone,
its doorstep to a colder house. It snows

and shines about our ornamental scene.
We can’t see for the petals of the rose.
He says she kissed his bald head in the lane,
first with sun, then snow.

THE SNOW DOME

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