Passover

Now spring—a still cold reminder
that life, even untended, persists.

The house has suffered my distress,
it is less than before, tired, a bit unkempt,
lacking sparkle. I should make amends.

Start here, this room, these objects
burdened by a mourning winter’s dust.

The pewter tray (a wedding gift),
copper vessels my grandfather
carried from Russia, candlesticks,

pitchers, teacups and bowls—
these things recall a life misplaced—

to serve, pour, give light,
cup warm liquids in palms . . .
bergamot tea, rice and milk,

the loving dead.

 

 

About the Poet:
Pamela Joyce Shapiro is a cognitive psychologist intrigued by memory and language. She teaches psychology in Philadelphia and writes poetry to capture moments otherwise forgotten. Her work has recently appeared in Poetry Breakfast and Better Than Starbucks.

 

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