My niece is sat opposite me
My niece is in possession of paint
And a paintbrush
And I’ve surrendered my hands to her.

That tickles!
My face scrunches

Paint properly plastered
The newspaper in front of us her dad had put down for her she swaps for plain
I wiggle the digits on my
Upward facing palms.

Now flip!
Like this?
She nods
And splat
SPLAT!

The One That Married Into This
Via me
Comes in from the kitchen.
I rise from my cross-legend position
And pat his cheek as we meet in the doorway
Then I rest my hand on his shoulder,
Trying to gaze lovingly,
As opposed to smirking.
He doesn’t notice the paint
Because it’s warm
And maybe I’ve just got clammier hands than usual.
I go to wash my hands off.

Your turn!
Le artiste demands
My turn?
Everybody turn!
Great-aunties groan.
Alright then.

SPLAT!

The One That Married Into This
Touches a reassuring
Painted
Palm
To just below my back.

So ordinary
We only notice the paint prints
As we graze the hall mirror
As we start the 30 minute process
Of saying goodbye

Walking art
He whispers
As we walk out the door

The smug feeling I felt clicking 'write'
To submit this poem

Time turns flames to embers
Especially after a taster session with Death

When I was young,
Safety was my mother's chest,
To listen to her heart,
And feel her warmth,
Just like she did me.

Now that I have grown,
Though to her I'm still her girl,
I'm your girl too.
And you share me.

Now I sit and cry about a bad day at school,
Listening to your heartbeat,
Just like mum's.
The repetition is calming -
Just like it was.

I love you just as much
I'd go above and beyond,
To sit with you every night,
Feel your breath on my cheek,
And take in your scent
Of liquorice and soap.