After the pantomime, carrying you back to the car
On the coldest night of the year
My coat, black leather, cracking in the wind.
Through the darkness we are guided by a star
It is the one the Good Fairy gave you
You clutch it tightly, your magic wand.
And I clutch you tightly for fear you blow away
For fear you grow up too soon and – suddenly,
I almost slip, so take it steady down the hill.
Hunched against the wind and hobbling
I could be mistaken for your grandfather
And sensing this, I hold you tighter still.
Knowing that I will never see you dressed for the Ball
Be on hand to warn you against Prince Charmings
And the happy ever afters of pantomime.
On reaching the car I put you into the baby seat
And fumble with straps I have yet to master
Thinking, if only there were more time. More time.
You are crying now. Where is your wand?
Oh no. I can’t face going back for it
Let some kid find it in tomorrow’s snow.
Waiting in the wings, the witching hour.
Already the car is changing. Smells sweet
Of ripening seed. We must go. We must go.