The Princess of the Whole Wide World

She did a dance on the top bunk,
proclaimed herself “Princess of the Whole Wide World,”
and commanded us to tell her our favorite dream.
But we were hollow heads
hiding cameras without film
like that sculpture out at Geiger's place
with the dead body all stretched out
and taking shallow breaths.
But she was not like the wayward sister
all hopped -up on fetti and mumbling, “You're cute.”
No, she was soft
like pink butter
trimmed in white faux fur.
I was serious when I promised,
“I will never let you fall”
but it's ridiculous and she didn't believe me.
I had held her tight and remained upright
even as bumblebees sebuku'd themselves on my bare feet
and she hollered at the footage.
Anyhow, I'll be old & feeble,
or dead and wasted,
when her own falls become serious and painful
when she will really need some help.
I can no longer travel freely.
I can no longer move about at will.
I am yoked to this present
and fear what change I may invoke with any dance.
I'm not sure she'll want to be queen of anything
and hope that she will ride upon my shoulders
until my knees buckle
and I lay her down again on that same top bunk.