As Good as a Grandfather

To the man who was

my surrogate grandfather,

.

I keep dreaming

of your house, the one

that replaced your trailer.

The one whose wooden beams

I saw go up, connect, then

be shrouded by white siding.

Just as it is now, you

are not there.

.

My dreams remember

the golden-wooded floors

of the living room and kitchen,

the multitude of cats

lazing on the wrap-around porch,

even your grandchildren

moving from room to room,

but not you in your house.

.

You have left it in my dreams. You,

with your blue coveralls, who taught

me the smell of woodshops: lacquer tart

and almost stinging in my nose. You,

who took a child-doodle of mine, a cat,

and cut it from wood though another

cat, wooden or real, wasn't needed. You,

who constructed the island and cabinets

still cherished in my family's kitchen.

.

I dream of your house

and I miss you.

.

With love from the girl

who still doesn't understand

how you've been gone

for eleven years.