Pamela Joyce Shapiro
This is for the young widower
who loved his lawn more than life,
who once stood waist high in a sea
of snow and shoveled all of
Pickwick Drive, as though it were
the world, as though the blizzard
bore his private whiteout grief,
and we were all enemies
because we could not save her,
because children did not love her
neat expanse of edged green grass
that spread from seed like the cancer
in her womb at the end of spring.
A cognitive psychologist intrigued by memory and language, Pamela Joyce Shapiro writes poetry to capture thoughts and moments otherwise forgotten.