There is nearly no slumber as deep as being a passenger in a car.
Maybe, just maybe, listening to Dave Grohl sing “Marigold” from a fuzzy FM dial with the horizontal mini blind light streams cast onto the wall and the summer breeze gently swaying into your ears
or the waves of your favorite body of water lapping into your right cheek, left ear pressed deep into your forearm
or the sleep that comes after your wisdom teeth are ripped from your jaw,
but that is drug induced, not naturally occurring
so let’s get back into the car
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You used to strap your firstborn daughter into her carseat in desperation, the only movement that would allow her to give in to those red, drooping infant eyes, heavy as the world
years before? years later?-
you strapped yourself in. You mentally zipped up your coat, tied your shoelaces tight, let the engine hum and rubber wheels on asphalt tuck you in and sing you lullabies
Every time you woke up, you were somewhere else, time never sleeping, place always changing
you told yourself I’m open to the possibilities, maybe this is it.
Maybe this time I’m home.