If only you could have seen her, wrapped like fish and chips in a muslin cloth.
If only you could have seen them, top of the division, the amphitheatre turned red with shirts and scarves.
If only you could see my woodwork, fuelled by the memory of your steady arms as you pruned back the branches of the fruit trees every spring.
If only you could see the things she’s making these days; psychadelic mermaids out of scrap paper and DIY costumes for living room parades.
If only you could have witnessed Trump and the virus, what seemed like the beginning of the end (but hopefully the end of whatever 2020 was).
If only you could see me, the man of my own house, no longer under your wing (but always catching a chill without it).
If only you could see me now.
Alex J Rankin 