Coco

When I lean against my grandma 

On the green couch 

She talks about things that used to be 

Does that mean 

When I’m her 

My grandkids won’t understand 

In this time in the world with everything that is going on, we need to find joy in the small things. Your sanity depends on it.

In my attic I keep my heart. 
I hold it there, safe amidst pillows, blankets and childhood stuffed animals. 
When I make things, I break off a piece of my heart, 
and sew it into pillows, 

Sit in the cold gray sand. Like a sand crab,

nestle between each grain and wait

for the waves to crash on the shore. Tell me how

the beach is like the sky, a map of tiny things