Thursday, June 8, 2017






Sanctum

At six I took possession
of a dresser drawer
given to me by my mother.
Mine, all mine
no sister or brother could touch it.
Nicely folded, I put within
two dresses and a sweater
a stolen marble
The Little Lame Prince
and two dimes tucked under.
I thought of other things to fill the drawer
but never did.
Tidy and space in a family of eight are exotic.
Too well my mother knew this.
Her gift to me of privacy ...
a room of my own.

Bridget Harwell

Monday, June 5, 2017






Clutter

Never have I learned
how to say good-bye
though I've had years of practice.

People leave so many things behind.
This and that get stored in the heart
until the time arrives for sorting.

Bridget Harwell

Thursday, May 18, 2017



Scape

No splendor of waterfall
no majesty of mountain
no mystery of gully
no secrets of a dark wood.
You do not take my breath away
stop my heart
sting me with beauty.
Modest landscape
you suit this life of mine.
Easy, slow rise
gentle decline
I would be a green hill
against a blue sky.

Bridget Harwell

Tuesday, May 2, 2017





Mrs. Miller Has Grown Tired

Books scattered here and there
no longer seem like friends to visit.
Perfume bottles, scarves draped on chairs,
little works of art from foreign places.
Gifts from Mr. Miller's travels
treasured in the moment,
now hardly seen among the clutter.

Unprompted memories,
that's what Mrs. Miller
prefers these days.
Like a mild breeze
they float through her mind.
Lately, she has returned to Gilberry Lane.
Felt again the sticky sun on her face,
her strong legs running,
hair whipping, heart fit to burst.
Then home to bed
and deep,deep sleep
as if dropped into a well.

Bridget Harwell

Thursday, February 23, 2017




Commerce

Face downward,
bent and old,
a woman leans
upon a cane
wends her way
to Macy's door.
What purchase
could be worth this toil?
A fry pan, a nightgown,
a present for a child?
Or words about the weather
and a priceless touch
when money changes hands.

Bridget Harwell

Thursday, February 9, 2017





For Elizabeth

Sit down and be quiet
nasty woman
with the big mouth.
OMG
Cackling and clucking
across the land,
feathers flying.
Ladies and bitches,
out of the coop!
Flap your wings
and roar.

Bridget Harwell