Bonfire Night

Joining the expectant crowds
gathering in the wide, windy park
we settle on our spot, my son and I,
alone together –
our own island in the dark,
far from the bonfire-warmth.

His hot-chocolatey breath
makes clouds around us
in the chilled night-air
as, emboldened by darkened disguise,
he confides his dreams, his fears, his pain.
And when the explosions begin
he slips his hand in mine
and grips, reflexively, in time
to the bangs
resting his head on my shoulder

and I remember
how he flung chubby arms around my neck
and squeezed with every whizz and whirr
when I comforted him on my hip
years ago.