Poetry
[ Linda M. Crate ]

give me the cold 
the summer heat
and humidity become
too much for me,

some people welcome
it;

but i've always
done better
in colder weather—

autumn is my
favorite season,

but summer has just
come with her 
bugs and oppressive
heat;

i am ready for her season
to be done and gone—

cooler summer days
usually bring about the groans,
but i actually prefer them;

swimming and boat trips
are well and good—

but i enjoy not sweating
from every orifice of my body
especially those i wasn't aware existed.

wasted time 
you brought me 
such shame and sorrow,
it brings heat to my
face when i remember
your name;

or when someone brings
you up—
i know we were once
together,
it's not something i can
escape;

but i am glad that chapter
of my life is over—

can't imagine being tethered
to the song of your name
forever,

not when you brought me
so much pain and rage;

i rose from the ashes anew:
magic and flames both burning
new and bright within me after
you devoured my heart—

after i watched you lick the blood
from your greedy hands,

i was sorrowful then;
but not any longer i only sorrow
of the time i wasted on you.

heat of the sun 
when i think about
you,
i feel the warmth
of your kindness
wash all over me;

i didn't know how
to tell you i loved you
guess i still don't

so i confess over and over
again in poems—
rosefinch, you are the
first woman i've ever loved
that wasn't fictional;

and i still carry that love all
these years later—

i wanted to be your moon,
thought you could be my sun;

all of the memories give
me enough heat to get by
even on the coldest, darkest days
your light speaks me to of magic
and dreaming; 

you wake in me the dreaming
still years after i knew you.

Linda M. Crate (she/her) is a Pennsylvanian writer who has fifteen published chapbooks, the latest being: not your piñata (Alien Buddha Publishing, June 2025).