My Santiago

around the dining table,

Less conversation now.

But mum, there are new shoots now,

Ones you would have died to see.

(No pun intended – thought you might laugh at that one – you with your wicked humour)

There are births,

Two beautiful young boys,

A marriage on a tropical beach,

and even grandchildren,

in third and fourth decades now;

Growing old –er.

(Imagine that)

I, we, remember you,

Always!

You would be proud at your progeny!

No pain now,

No thoughts of those last disconcerting months;

Now we remember

the crowded house,

the dining table conversation,

(always at cross purposes),

The comings and goings of your four children

And their children;

Those halcyon Christmas lunches

And the cricket in the backyard;

The movie that you and dad went to see

With Clint Eastwood, at the Odeon,

Whom you never saw,