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.

On a bookshelf
at the back,
in a room reserved for guests,
a pretty vase sits, long-forgotten;
a thin mantle of grime and dust
concealing its true palette and pedigree.
Open-mouthed, it awaits a higher purpose--
the chance to hold and quench the thirst
of phlox or rose or mum.
 
It’s all just stuff:
collected,
neglected--
bits of stuff and nonsense.
The need to hold on tight
strangles
owned and owner both,
until what we keep
eventually
keeps
us.

---

Linda Hatfield is a retired teacher who has been writing poetry since she was a teen and is working on penning a CNF/memoir. Her poems have been published in the ARTA magazine, the YYC POP online exhibit, and the Wine Country Writers’ Festival Anthology in 2021. She just received word that two of her poems placed in the Nick Blatchford Occasional Verse Contest and will be published this fall. She is a member of the Espresso Poetry Collective, who self-published an anthology called Uncommon Grounds in the midst of the pandemic. When not engaged with the written word, Linda loves to read, travel, garden, and create with paint, fabric and photography.  She lives in Calgary with her husband, Rick Smith.