Cinders

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 charging. Smells sweet

Of ripening seed. We must go. We must go.