Sun Through Snow

By PETER FILKINS

 

Turner could have done no better,
nor did he, articulating the light
made now radiant, prismatic:
hills, lake, trees and woolen sky
filtered by this sun-threaded squall
of snow as real as veneration,
the smell of rain, the heft of stone,
or the thought that within an hour
it will be gone, the veer and waft
and thrust of clouds and light
electric with the back-lit pulse
and shimmer of each ray of snow
consigned to memory and weather
closing down this moment’s glow.

 

[Purchase Issue 21 here.] 

 

Peter Filkins will publish his fifth collection of poems, Water / Music, with Johns Hopkins this April. His previous book of poems, The View We’re Granted, received the Sheila Margaret Motton Best Book Prize from the New England Poetry Club. Recent poems have appeared in The Paris Review, The Hopkins Review, Salmagundi, and The American Scholar. He teaches writing and literature at Bard College at Simon’s Rock and translation at Bard College.

From the beginning, The Common has brought you transportive writing and exciting new voices. We are committed to supporting writers and maintaining free, unrestricted access to our website, but we can’t do it without you. Become an integral part of our global community of readers and writers by donating today. No amount is too small. Thank you!

Sun Through Snow

Related Posts

February 2026 Poetry Feature: Fatimah Asghar and Shane Moran

FATIMAH ASGHAR
i cursed the frog / that found its way into / my house. murderous, i laid / poison for the ants. i threw / my moon in the trash. / when he cheated, i wished / him a hall of mirrors. / doomed to endless versions / of him. i prayed they’d undo / each other. & they did. i took / from the earth without permission."

Mountain, Stone

LENA KHALAF TUFFAHA
Do not name your daughters Shaymaa, / courage will march them / into the bullet path of dictators. / Do not name them Sundus, / the garden of paradise calls out to its marigolds, / gathers its green leaves up in its embrace. / Do not name your children Malak or Raneem, / angels want the companionship

Book cover of suddenly we

Poems from suddenly we by Evie Shockley

EVIE SHOCKLEY
one vote begets another / if you make a habit of it. / my mother started taking me / to the polls with her when i / was seven :: small, thrilled / to step in the booth, pull / the drab curtain hush-shut / behind us, & flip the levers / beside each name she pointed / to, the Xs clicking into view. / there, she called the shots / make some noise.