Things That Matter to Not Undo

There is little promise in the things he left
hanging in the dark recesses of his mind’s attic.

My granddad lapped up the remaining potatoes,
He loved the dregs of the broth and the stub of days left:

The little sleep nudging and knocking on his eyes,
And the crystal crumbs crying uneaten on the plate.

He shredded sweet meats with forked toothpicks,
A tired mouth disdained the rinds of cheese.

The tiny crimps on the suit he missed in the ironing
Lingered like sore fingers of a leprous hand.

All the small words that stuck to his throat like phlegm
and the bigger world of remembering of those days,

Those tiny footnotes his life had become
Sat like dust on the oaken table, grey and tangible.

At last he mowed down his once-hot soup
and the bistre in his eyes asked not for pity.

---

Nattie O’Sheggzy is a poet who, often accompanied by his loyal dog, Exhale, finds inspiration in the complexities of simple things. He is the author of two poetry collections: Random Imaginations and Sounds of the Wooden Gong. Nattie’s work has been featured in various literary publications, including Literary Yard, Sandy River Review, Everscribe, Ultramarine Review, Heroin Love Song, Agape Review, SweetSmell Journal, Smoky Quartz, Feed The Holy, and LiteZine. He is currently working on publishing his third poetry collection.