Three poems by Linda Crate

a new mythology of bones

i guess i should’ve known
you were never mine,
shone a little too bright to
actually be a sun;

but still i wished for you
throwing my heart at the wishing well
of the universe

as if this would make it so—

but we came undone,
every ribbon and bow left to fade
in the dark creek that knew
no sun or moon;

once it destroyed me but i look at
those ribbons and bows and all of their
bones and don’t recognize that girl—

i needed a new mythology of bones
so i could be me.



you’re too late

carved your name
so deep into one of the trees
of my heart,

that the tree still
remembers the scar even
if i am learning slowly
how to forget your name;

you left like winter
departs from spring

coming back to leave a few
snowflakes so that the
flowers become confused and
the birds sit protesting in their trees—

but the cold no longer bothers me,
and i have reclaimed every diamond of
the snow to mean me kindness;

if you were hoping to destroy me
then you’re too late.



the purple house

sometimes i feel like
that purple house
in the middle of nowhere

a beautiful magic
not perceived the right way,

known but unknown;

misunderstood and hated
simply because i have character
and depth—

the mythology of my bones
may not be for everyone,
nor the lyrics of my heart and soul;

but i won’t stop singing because
you think i am too much—

go find less.


Linda M. Crate’s works have been published in numerous magazines and anthologies both online and in print. She is the author of ten published chapbooks, four full-lengths, and three micro-chaps. She has a novella, also, called Mates (Alien Buddha Publishing, March 2022).

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