She is Old Now

She floats 

on a mattress

protected by the parent arms of side rails

to the sedated fugue 

of murmurs and machines

along the fluorescent horizon of a hospital room

which was once upon a time

a fairy pink crib with billowing sails

that skimmed along the surface of

a wind-blown, sunlit nursery

bound for all the birthright adventures to come

which are now as lost

as comet trails

The distant traffic is conducted by 

the highway sway of palm trees

Everyone is going somewhere.

But not her.

Not her.

She is old now

But young when her eyes are closed.

which sends her back to the time when

she would lie like a ball of house cat

beneath the curved rear window

of the Hudson Hornet

watching the tapestry of infinity swirl by

while daddy

Captain of the wheel

puffed on a Bering Plaza

like he was blowing kisses,

the ponton body of the car

rocked her baby brother like a cradle

and mommy 

misted with Arpege 

sang Catch A Falling Star and Put It in Your Pocket

for that night's lullaby

as the tires thumped like heartbeats

and invisible wings

flew them home