POCKET SHRINK

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