Thoughts On A Plane

Somewhere up in the air between Lisbon and Barcelona.
The aircraft is a small one, reminds me of my first airplane experiences, when the flight attendant acts out how to wear a seat belt and use the airbag in case of an emergency.
Like the old days without a screen for each seat.
The old days for me are the future to so many others that have come and gone and left. "How time flies..."
People say that but some times it really feels that way.
Other times it’s like the world stands still.
Here I am, up in the sky, in between time zones and places, and I am longing to play pause on the tape recorder. The VHS tape. The record player. The live musician in the street corner. The lullaby the cavewoman hums to her newborn.

Somewhere up in the air,
Up NOWHERE, 
I think of Hebrew:
The language of my mother.
My mother’s tongue.
It's an eternal lullaby.

Even in old age,
With dementia,
And Alzheimer,
We sing our childhood lullabies
On pitch and without forgetting a word.
Because Mother’s tongue is eternal.
The cave mother is our mother.