The Power of a Grandmother

The little boy taps his fingers against his open palm,
making the baby sign language for “more.”
But it’s not nanners he wants or more pancakes.
Tap, tap he goes,
and says, “More choo-choo?”
We spend our days—Aubrey and his Gogi—racing to the window
when the choo-choo whistle blows.
We crane our necks to see.
The crossing arm lowers,
the red lights blink.
But the train backs up.
The choo-choo never appears.
The little boy signs.
“More choo-choo?” he asks.
As if Gogi controlled
all within the world
even the appearance of trains.

here’s to creative synthesis . . .