She gets in the car
with the three kids
and the six pack cooling
the diaper bag
just in case,
but she’s already flying,
her shaking now
a gentle dance.
She loves how she floats,
lives for it;
her slurred body sloughs away,
the steering wheel
an instrument of God.
She no longer needs the
guidance of the lines,
turns to see her
babies sleeping,
weeps
for their beautiful danger,
wonders if it will be over soon.
