We drive north on the highway
heading for Reno.
My husband urges me
to put my seat back to rest.
I close my eyes and feel
my body sway gently side to side
with the tires spinning
against grooved pavement.
The rocking motion transports me
back to my father’s 1950
powder blue Packard.
 
We are going south to Miami.
My baby brother is asleep
on the back seat
scrunched up against Robbie,
and I am lying in the back
on the floor, an army blanket
draped over us.
 
I look out the window and see
the blackest sky filled
with blinking stars
as white as my brother’s
bleached diapers.

The radio is playing up front.
I hear a strong voice singing,
“He’s got the whole world
in his hands,
the whole wide world
in his hands.”
I rock gently back and forth,
my body curled over
the carpeted drive shaft,
knowing someone
is holding us right
in the palm of his hand.

 
From Why I Miss New Jersey (Everhart Press, 2013)
Used here with permission.