Gandalf, who is dearly missed.

The air is a little heavier today, 
happier too
With you afloat in it somewhere
What we needed must have been given:
Mother always sung me to sleep, 
“Don’t you worry, my darling child, 
Providence has a heart of gold;
Now, now, don’t cry.”

But little girls grow in strange ways.
They learn to hate the silly things like
The sweet smell of sweat, and
The buttery soft grease of their scalps,
The bruises of childhood that 
Scream of trees climbed and glass doors broken, 
Of dogs outrun, brothers overtaken...
And the slightest of sometimes: 
Of learning that love can be angry, 
And very, very real. 

We grow in strange ways, 
But find hope in all the usual suspects:
And you know that you were one of them. 
I've held your hand and felt your peace, 
And let it dance me to the rooms of joy:
And given you thanks by questioning my motivations. 
(At Christmas time, you were the man 
who asked your grandchildren to gift you 
their favorite candy.) 

Yes:
The air is a little heavier today. 
But, it’s happier too,
With you afloat in it somewhere. 
You will waft into 
All the long white beards, 
And soft, deliberate voices; 
All the electric rooms, 
And chocolate covered almonds
That I will one day see again
Many, many times. 

And when you do come,
Adrift on the zephyr of a sunny morning, 
Just to whisper in my ears
Your precious, precious words 
of encouragement: 
I should hope to let you know that 
I did grow-
I comfortably filled:
The shade of my brown 
The way my lips are sort of dark
And the quiet place that truly holds my heart,
The majestically mundane solace of 
Acceptance. 

A place that could never be but named 
After you.