Donall Said Me! (For Lyn)

Your 3 year old search for words trying to grasp them as I speak them seeing what you are hearing as a tangible thing sound a something you can touch me decieving you to try to please you with the truth of lies confusing the issue with my trickery me stupidly tearing a scrap of paper scrawling Tilly! Tilly! Tilly! on it placing it secretly like a holy wafer upon my tongue like a little bird calling 'Tilly! Tilly! Tilly' & you peeling your slippery name from my voice wild & wet with amazement running with wonder to Mummy with a 'Look... look...Donall said me' they mystery of your world curling up at the edges held in the palm of your hand. *** TELLING TILLY TALES Almost as if I hypnotize you you gaze entranced as the words flower from my mouth your tiny hands trying to grasp their blossoming crying 'cos you can't catch them and now with anguished anger trying to tear them from my lips the treasure of speech as if a magic trick you can't quite figure out this mystery of words you want to hold in your hands that you can only hear in your heart this ghost of breath that dies with its birth the wonder of words that blazes behind your eyes setting your mind on fire! *** I WAS ONLY A SONG AND A DREAM GONE My daughter cries: 'No, now I'll tell the story! ' 'Close your eyes! ' I close my eyes. 'The rain sang a sad little song that made the windows cry! ' I smile pretend I've fallen asleep as she tucks me up in dreams tells her teddy to 'Shhhh... ...can't you see Daddy's sleeping? ' The teddy begs her pardon. She strokes my hair & tells me the story of the rain again again until she falls asleep under the spell of its telling. I place her gently inside the dreams I dream for her. Her Mummy scolding me with ' What..! ...took you so long? ' I tell her: 'I was only a dream & a song gone! ' *** THE TELLER OF TALES Fragile as a little bird you alight on my lap weighing no more than a dream or a wonder would. You adjust your bony bum perch & command me to begin: “Say... the story! ” This is how the story always begins eyelash to eyelash chin to chin. You gaze into my eyes as if the story already exists there and my voice just colours it in. Whether it be Grimm or Hans Christian Andersen you never take your eyes off of my eyes. Your little hands hold the sides of my face So(you say) you can feel “The way the words move! ” And night after night to your and my ever greater delight You say: “Say... the story! ” And the night listens as the big human weaves a world for the little human to get lost in & find herself again. Precious as water little daughter I carry your sleeping & put your dreams to bed. *** MAKSHIFT DADDY(FOR TILLY) She wraps her legs around my neck pulls on the reins of my ears and curls when she wants me to giddy up or stop. She screams: 'Daddy Daddy! ' and excitedly wee wees down the back of my neck, A happy little girl happy that I am her Daddy ...even just for now. 'You're my pretend Daddy 'cos my real Daddy's gone away to be dead in Heaven.' She tells me that one day she will visit him in Heaven but she will '...have to wait until she's grown up dead.' 'But...' (she carefully assesses the situation) '...you'll do for the time being! ' *** These are all the 'Tilly' poems which basically explore Tilly's world and her search for words and sound and sense and reason. It was such an amazing experience telling her bedtime stories...whether it was me telling her or her telling me. Her fascination with my voice and where the words were coming from...she tracked the source to my mouth and would try to pull the words out and hold them in her hand. She would cry for my words and be amazed that if they were so real why couldn't she feel them...touch them...hold them. Her little nails once cut my gums and lips and I told her I could say the word 'Blood! ' and indeed the word was accompanied by the actual thing dripping from my lips...this was the nearest we got to the sound and actuality arriving together to be a tangible touchable thing. The debate about the page or the voice...I was with Tilly! I too wanted to touch the trembling beauty of a word and hold it in my palm like a quivering little bird. Tilly was such a beautiful little girl and I was so proud she allowed me to be her makeshift Daddy. I wore it like a badge of honour. Tilly was just pure delight...a happiness made tangible and so beautifully...real!