the gifts given

i was the one that
began the ritual
as a child,

i decided to get all
four of my cousins
a gift of their own 
from me; 

i have always thought
of making others
happy or trying to give
them joy because seeing
people i love happy brings me
happiness—

every christmas for years
we did this

until one year
we didn't,
and i wonder if any of 
those toys or trinkets
remain a part of the lives
of my cousins or if they've
left them all behind;

i cannot blame them 
once out of sight it is easy to 
be out of mind.


 
lost sisterhood 

we had this 
ritual
of celebrating our
birthdays together,

it always made me
feel so special;

but this year you don't
want to see me and now
i don't know what to do—

all this love, all these memories,
every photograph, all of these
gifts i still have littering
my house for you feel like
they'll weigh me down forever;

you only want letters
but you didn't ask me what i wanted—

i want to know why i wasn't considered?
why is it always what you want?
it used to be mutual decisions,
mutual friendship, mutual love;

but now i don't know if you ever
loved me as a sister should.


 
garden full of nothing 

we had this ritual
of going to 
waldameer each 
year together
with your dad,

and we'd get 
dinner afterward;

i remember looking
forward to those 
days—

but one summer
that ended,
and then another 
came and went;

until we got 
where we are now—

strangers who were
once friends,
a face and a name i used
to know like the back of
my own hand;

thick as thieves for a 
garden full of nothing where
there used to be flowers—

& i wonder is growing up
just losing everyone you've ever loved?

About the author:

Linda M. Crate (she/her) is a Pennsylvanian writer whose poetry, short stories, articles, and reviews have been published in a myriad of magazines both online and in print. She has fifteen published chapbooks the latest being: not your piñata (Alien Buddha Publishing, June 2025). 

Feature image by Hanin Abouzeid on Unsplash