(for J aged four)

On the phone he says, we need magic doors.

When he steps through his magic door,
he will be here.
When I step through my magic door,
I will be there.

And he’s stepping through, clutching his teddy,
helping me find the mixing bowl,
the butter, sugar, bars of chocolate,
asking questions all the time.

And I am stepping through,
hugging them all for a moment
and stepping back
or on a whim
sharing the pizza they bake together on Saturdays,
and stepping back.

I tell him it’s a brilliant idea, just what we need,
no more travelling six hundred miles
for hugs and tickles and butterfly kisses.

He says, the trouble is we haven’t got one have we.

And I see him, a scientist inventing one.
When he’s a grandfather
he’ll take magic doors in his stride.

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