Driving in Daddy's Car

In honor of Mother's Day, I thought I'd post a poem I wrote for my Mom a few years back. It's about a tradition her family--of 9 little kids--used to do every week, called the Pajama ride. Hope you enjoy :)

Sundays with Sinatra buzzed

and crackled over Daddy’s car radio

As we cruised down Bridge street.

The nine of us snuggled in the backseat

dressed in our pj’s, nodding away sleep.

Tiny heads rest in teeny laps,

Cradling the little ones like dolls.

Always last to “rest my eyes,” I am entranced

By my father.

Singing along with Frank,

Emitting complete ease and tranquility.

He caressed the wheel like an artist

Protecting his most precious piece.

And his hands,

Oh his hands, I will never forget!

Gentle but stern with piano- player fingers,

Callused, yet bursting with love.

The tender rapture of sleeping children

had filled the car when

Daddy turned and caught my eye.

Reaching back, he grazed

my cheek and winked.

Turning to the road,

he sang on, never letting the music

of his heart fade.

Letting my eyes droop,

I slept, knowing for the first time,

That I was loved.