Yellow gingham curtains puffing in a breeze,
Fresh from the sea. I hear the waves crash.
I have remade this little cottage where Grandmother’s house
Once stood. And now it shines with bright white light,
It’s finished, floors gleam, and I’m ready to move in.
But Grandmother says no, she wants the room.
In fact, she has her reading chair in her arms.
She is young and beautiful and smiling.
I wonder where my parents are, and she laughs.
“The beach, of course. Stay with me. We’ll read poems.”
I feel joyous, safe, loved, content.
I wake, wishing to hold on to this dream,
Somewhat troubled that I am readying that room
At this time of life when there’s still so much
To be done. Only God knows whose room I prepared,
When He’s ready, He will tell me.