“I think the world will be saved
by millions of small things,”
my T-shirt proclaims
over an image of Pete Seeger,
owl-wise with squinty eyes,
grizzled beard and a wide-brimmed hat.

What does that even mean?
I wish there were some gloss
on the back of the shirt,
some elucidation of the insight.

But look, here comes Paloma,
my twenty-seven-month-old granddaughter.
She wants to sit on my lap.
She wants me to read to her
about the five little monkeys
jumping on the bed.

“One fell off,” I prompt.
“Bump his head!” she cries,
proud of herself, seeing my delight.