against my cheek
as my brother peeled away layers
of cool leather, fur, fleece
I was sleeping amongst
a bed swollen with visitor’s
coats
in my grandmother’s bedroom
In a slow blink, we three were
outside
in the silent, night time chill
I was in my father’s arms
my vision fogged in the curling
vapor of his beer breath
But could see my older brother
who sleep-walked alongside
We approached the dark headlights
of our wall-eyed Caprice Classic
that had been ruefully watching
awaiting our return
We slipped in, backed out, honked
The sensation of forward
floating, of easy suspension
lulled me again
But there was hardness against my
head, the car window
A vague circular blooming chilled
my skull
But I was too tired to move
I remember the car’s dark roof
liner above us
The absolute blackness of it,
like glimpsing
the night sky’s inner slip,
devoid of stars
But through the windows
light still penetrated
Each passing street light’s
indirection
caused the interior to pensively
glow and dim
and glide upon the chrome trim
around us
the door handles, the backseat
ashtray, the window cranks
I remember the harsh turn signal
urgently snapping in my ear
wanting my attention
This break in the silence the
only indication
that anything else existed
outside of this luxurious night
time reverie
I roused briefly to hear the
radio murmuring, glowing weakly
like the tender ends of a dying
idea
We are in our car, our nice big
car, I reminded myself
A car as invulnerable as our
father
The car stopped, then silence,
then ticking
My father’s warm hands
slipped beneath me
I opened my eyes to glance toward
the familiar lane
that stretched before our
apartment building
But it wasn’t there
My brother was tapping my elbow
Had been for some time
I had believed in that instant
I had accidentally napped us into
a wormhole
and reversed time itself
but came to a horrible
realization
that we had arrived again at
grandmother’s
and our father didn’t know it
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