Poetry by Nora Pasco

                ​Bruce Guenter CC



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Winter Cemetery
       For Richard 

Against the plot of memories I press 
my palms — attempt to sculpt a future from 

your silent stone. If you can hear my voice,
how do I sound? Am I as much a ghost 

as you, shrouded in snow, here yet not here,
body, yet ash, yet sky — soft winter crows

crossing me? What can I say with words I 
cannot proclaim with hands on grounds of loss?

How quiet is the requiem of touch
when you are earth and I am only love.

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Nora Pasco is a 38 year old poet currently working as a hospital nurse tech and completing her degree in Human Services. She has previously been published in Freshwater and has a forthcoming publication in the online journal Pink Plastic House.