IMOGENE’S NOTEBOOK
Messages in a Norwegian Night
A poem
Grandpa built a sturdy house of hewn fir
tucked in a fjord where the bellies of seagulls
flashed white in the rays of the setting sun
Late summer, a fire wreathed
woodsmoke about the roof and
I remember the smoke
and the salt of the sea
At eventide he and I would perch
before the hearth, firelight reflecting
in the glass of his Elgin pocket watch,
my small hands stretched out with his
to receive the wood’s warm blessing.
As a boy, I visited him in Norway
land of ever-changing light, rolling cloud shadows
bringing sudden night to bright summer days
and when the sun finally ducked behind the bluff
twilight seeped in like indigo fog.
Unearthly howls, strange messages filled the night
and I moved closer to Grandpa, this great
solid source of warmth and wisdom.
He hugged my shoulder and said,
“Don’t worry, they won’t tangle with Norsemen.”
