My aunt Fan is the loveliest person you ever could meet. She used to be a librarian. She draws intricate patterned thingies that would blow your mind. She has the best sense of humour. She plays the piano. And I’ve always thought, since I was four, that if only all grown-ups could read books aloud and talk with children the way Fan does, then the world would be a much happier place.
So here: a teeny poem to celebrate this wonderful woman on her almost-birthday. (It was yesterday. You know. Nearly)
I’m making a list in my head
Of all of the things I am crazy
About not just
Crazy-crazy but
Concerning a particular auntie because
Never in all my two score
Minus three
Years have I met somebody who could
Shake the words in a book and have them
Fall about like leaves
With just the right amount of
Humour
Love
Darkness
Hope and I’ve heard that hope is
A thing with feathers but really it’s
An auntie because
To have an auntie like Fan is to
Have a glowworm in your pocket the kind of
Glowworm you pull out on occasion to
Remind yourself how lovely the sea is and how
If you speak to little children in the way that
Fan does then they can go
Into the darkest caves and greyest days with
A hoppity heart and all because
They have someone who speaks to them
As if they could be in charge
Of the sun at least
On Tuesdays when they’re not
Doing times tables or
Trying to tie a shoelace.
