When my toddler grandson, Quinn,
lines up his tiny wooden cars and buses,

he drops a red stop sign
in front. They have to park, he says,

holding them still. He pauses,
thinks, then reaches deep

into his toy chest to find
wooden train tracks. He snaps

the pieces together, aligning
the wheels to their grooves.

Now they can go, he whispers,
pushing them forward into the room—

clearing a path
for both of us.