Snow, Fall by Judith Arcana

Snow, Fall

by Judith Arcana

That one time you hit the baby, that one time

out on the street when the bus was so late

and then didn't come and the snow

started falling; that time you lifted all

your food in bags, paper handles dampening

and she kept holding onto your leg, pulling

your coat and you couldn't carry her too

while the flakes came thick and wet and faster.

That’s the time you remember, not all

the times you didn't, all those times when

you didn't hit the baby, times you both giggled

rolled in the grass naked of anger and fear

while the teddy bear and plastic chicken

slept on top of the rackety wooden dog

without fighting. Their toy allegory is nothing

compared to that time you saw her small face

inside the wool scarf, her wide open eyes surprised

at the slap under the hat with blue ear flaps;

you remember that time, sharp points on every flake, falling.

The poet who wrote this poem, Judith Arcana, died recently. This poem is from her 2005 book, What if your mother, published by Chicory Blue press.

What I love about this poem, and others like it, is it rawness, its openness, its honesty, and its vulnerability. Not all (most?) poems should have an answer, a happy ending, some reassurance for the reader, or a definitive perspective on right and wrong. Great poets admit to failing, to not knowing things, to not being perfect; it differentiates them from Instagram poets, embroidered pillows, and greeting cards.

This poem puts the speaker's imperfection on display and by doing so, offers a hand to any reader who has also mistakes (in other words, all of us, or at least those of us willing to admit it). And for many of us reading this poem, we are more struck by being able to relate--not necessarily relate to slapping a young child, but to forever dwelling on one awful moment in our lives rather than all of the positive moments.

I also love the title because it is doing triple duty. It provides part of the scene we will enter--a snowy day. The snow itself is an important aspect here as it is most likely the reason the bus is late, the cold gets wetter which puts both mother and child into bad moods, and the chill of snow can be seen as the same chill any of us feels when we remember our own awful moment. (Example: ask the professors you know about the overwhelming positive student evaluations they have received compared to the few negative ones. Which group do you think some of those profs dwell on?)

The third way the title is important here as it sets up the bookend form here, as the poem ends with "flake, falling," which mirrors "Snow, Fall."

The word "fall," of course also resonates on many levels. We often use this word as "fail." To fall short means to not meet expectations. People have a falling out.

There is also a great deal of sound work in this poem. All appears 3 times, and there are plenty of other "l" words: late, lifted, pulling, rolled, allegory, small, wool, and falling, which appears twice.

The first third of the poem paints a vivid scene of frustration, stress, and the sense that something is going to go wrong. It ends with "thick and wet and faster," words that sound/are quite different from those "l"-heavy words.

The second part details pleasant times between the same mother and child. It ends with the phrase "without fighting," which is also separated from the sentence it goes with.

The last part of the poem is where the heartbreak and the connection with the reader is made clear. None of those happy and peaceful times takes up headspace like this time at the snowy bus stop, and Arcana's description of the little girl makes us see the scene very clearly. The child is as surprised as anyone, making clear that this slap is not normal.

To read reviews of the book this poem appeared in, click here. Judith Arcana was a beloved poet, especially here in Portland. I never met her, but many of the poets I am friends with knew her well. I learned that she was a Jane, and that makes me even sadder that I did not get to know her. Last year I read a great history of the Janes called The Story of Jane: The Legendary Underground Feminist Abortion Service by Laura Kaplan. It is an incredible book and I urge you to read it, as well as What if your mother.

I send warm thoughts to all of my snow-bound friends and family. Wednesday's poem will be less snowy and much more New Year's-y!