Year of the Acorn
Year of the Acorn
(For my Father who
has Parkinsons &
Alzheimer's)
22/12/12 21:21
pm
Out on a winter walk
one day
you solemnly put an
acorn into my hand.
Something in my head
whispered
"Keep it safe
and he'll be safe".
I kept it to this
day.
Year one.
One candle on my
cake,
burned into my
mind's eye forever.
You took a
photograph
to keep me in the
picture.
Year four.
My sister arrived in
the world.
You took me to feed
the swans.
Back home
she greeted us with
screams.
I fled, covering my
ears.
Year thirteen.
Mother told me the
facts of life.
You kept well out of
it.
Year nineteen,
A disco at the end
of a long, quiet
road.
You always drove me
safely there and
back.
You were judge and
jury
of all boyfriends.
Year twenty three.
You gave me away
to the best
boyfriend of all.
A montage of eras
replay in the bright
lens of memory
till the year of the
walk
and the acorn.
And I kept it safe
so you'd be safe,
only now it looks
cracked and old;
not quite like an
acorn
and you are not
quite like you.
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