I wrote this poem when my son, Sav*, was 10. I was trying to formulate my feelings about the variety of heritages which he carries but which are mostly unremembered. Also to compare the close, eager Christianity of Africa and the Caribbean with the often-chilly faith practised in emptying spaces across the British isles.
As you can see, Sav is grown now. He will be 22 next month. My feelings of gratitude haven't changed about him; nor towards the strands of warmer faith to which he unknowingly connected me. Parents both know, and cannot know, their children. We can grasp much less of their history, or their future, than we wish. The same goes for our religion. I just hope British Christianity warms up a bit.