I remember when you first winked at me
across the dining room table,
when your mother said I had overcooked the poached eggs.
You were 40 and I was a teenager
so the wink was just a wink of humour,
harmless and not flirtatious in the least
But that wink burrowed itself into my psyche,
made me ache for another wink….
If I hadn’t boiled the grapefruit marmalade all over the Aga,
a second wink might have happened sooner.
I remember when you first hugged me.
It was a week after my father died suddenly and I will never forget
the hesitation of that first hug,
your delight and nervousness,
your big, muscled arms,
my tears on your shoulder.
I remember the evening when you first understood me
as we bantered philosophical conundrums across the kitchen table
while your mother snored gently in the next room.
You don’t remember much of this, your eyes have forgotten how to wink, I banter as you snooze, and your arms no longer have the strength to hug me.
The time may come when you don’t remember who I am,
but I will never forget who you are,