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.