Grandma shuts the door,
stifles a sigh.
She sifts through the basket
with goodies
piled high.

Imported teas, jam in a pot
hard candies,
nuts,
fruitcake
and such.

She reads the red card
filled with their names.
Susan,
Sam,
Eddie,
and James.

Such a colorful gift,
that fills the slot,
bought in the market
with nary a thought.

She won't complain,
but why can't they see?

The perfect gift
is simple.

Heartfelt,
and free.

Cherished time
with her family.

She remembers past holidays,
knitting sweaters for days.
Double shifts,
handmade gifts.
Sacrifices
she's made.

Sewing dresses
for them to wear.
Miles of fabric,
trimmed with lace.

Holiday cards,
plump with cash.
Then tucking in extra...
Just in case.

Now she is weary,
lonely,
distraught.

The gift she wants most
cannot be bought.
Time with her family.
Not that basket she got.

She shrugs off that sadness,
regret
and ire.

With her regular tea,
she settles in.
Wipes a tear,
warmed by the fire.