How many times, when I close my eyes,
Do I go to that room, where love lives.
My uncle is there, sitting back in his chair,
A smile, a nod to my auntie Muriel,
To show such enjoyment at any tale I tell.
All eyes are on me, as I sip my tea,
As I tell of all of my small victories.
Anything I say is interesting, any explanation.
Met with attentive sighs and exclamations.
In years to come, with my children,
I re-live the same scene.
The attention multiplied by ten,
The love, by a thousand then.
Nurtured in such certainty,
My towering uncle so sure of me,
A thick warm blanket of adoration,
Served up with stuffed monkeys,
To each generation.
My auntie bustling to refill our plates,
My dad fretting as we are running late,
My mum soaking up the moment,
Knowing as she does that it isn’t permanent.
But to me it was always going to be there,
That room, that table, those chairs.
Everything in its place, everyone.
The building blocks of who I am.
I return there now by only these means.
When I close my eyes or in my dreams.
To behold my auntie, in all her beauty.
Only kindness, love and generosity,
As she serves me up another plate of self confidence,
Grown from many a family conference,
Conducted over afternoon tea.
