Stuff and nonsense by linda hatfield

June Prompt: Here, take this. We don't need it anymore.

In a package
in a drawer,
in a cabinet, china-stuffed,
some serviettes wait patiently;
a thin wrapper of cellophane
the veil that divides design from destiny--
that single, elegant moment of
wiping a wayward smudge of soup or sauce
off hand or lips or cheek.
 
In a box
within a box,
in a drawer of fancy baubles,
some precious jewels lie dormant;
a thin patina of tarnish
obscuring their previous state of glory,
while newer, brighter counterparts
sparkle and dangle frequently
from ear and neck and wrist.

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