Dreaming of Norah

[For my granddaughter, Norah K. Hadley, August 17, 2004 - October 21, 2017--JK]

In my dream you've become a picture

in a book I read with your mom:

Girl castaway, dressed in skins,

with a spear, a dog,

standing on your island cliff, 

staring out to where

the sky disappears in ocean.

Forever thirteen, 

you wait with perfect patience 

though no one is coming.

 

There is something I must do for you.

I have completely forgotten to do it
these months without you.

We must get there before you vanish!

Later every second, 

I search the house for my notes, 

wearing just one sock.

Oh, where is the other, and why

can’t I hear what you are humming? 

What did I do with your laugh, your

flower-painted toenails? Who knows

how you slept on your mother’s lap

by the nattering TV, or palled around

with Grandma in the kitchen?

Someone must bring your sass,

Your silly, your love of babies

and small pet snakes. Someone else 

the clear notes of your voice,

the way your hand tucked into mine.

 

When we get there I must explain

what no one can:

Why this, why you, why anything; 

why waves carve the rocks

while the light leans, and seabirds

whirl in their endless fuss.     

My dear, it’s much too hard.                     

Instead I bring a joke

I memorized yesterday, thinking of you.

 

But you are in a mood too mysteriously gentle

even to laugh at Grandpa:

Breathing the wind, petting your dog

blaming no one for anything. 

Still with your song that never quits

you gaze at something I can’t see 

out past the whispering surf

where stars thin the first dark.