Gift-giving

[ Warning: this is way sentimental]

Once upon a time I desired specifics:
a twenty-one-speed mountain bike sized to fit,
a doll’s house for plastic ponies,
a silk-textured sleeping bag okay down to freezing.

Once upon a time I gave friends specifics: a much-wanted movie,
the latest CD, a particular book,
a favorite wine.

But this year it’s different.

The people I love now don’t really need anything:
we know how to shop. If we want it we buy it,
on credit or salaries our folks disbelieve.

There’s no Christmas list, no birthday wishes -
so nothing to give.

Yet birthdays and Christmas and babies keep coming:
occasions for presents and things to unwrap.
After all, we don’t care any less than we did years ago.

This year for my birthday:
ten emails with wishes, six pings to say ‘hi!’
four voicemails,
two different-styled notebooks,
two books on spec,
one weekend with beach-hike,
one bag for my travels,
one necklace that gleams.
None of it needed, none of it wanted - until I received it,
when everything changed.
All week I thought, Hey, they remembered!
and said, “Oh, I love it!” and “Thank you so much.”

This year, like most others, I try to plan presents,
but I’ve given up on details, on things people need.
Instead I arrive with gift bag in hand:
a teacup, some tea, a card in green paper. I have no idea
if my friend will like these. But they’re here and I’m here
and I clearly remembered enough in advance
to find paper and a bow.

We hug, drink champagne, wish “Happy birthday!”
and I think about presents:
what’s needed, what’s not, and how little it matters
compared to “Hey, they remembered!” and just showing up
to talk and eat cake.
Presents prove memory, offer later reminders:
“This was from... who remembered! It’s my favorite now.”