The Best of Times
It is the best of times.
Sitting with a 3-year-old grandson
And his corner. In a recliner,
Cozy, while his head leans on
My shoulder. We have gotten
Him other blankets, softer ones.
But his die-hard comfort is the one
With the corner he could stick his finger
Into when he was a baby. He does not
Talk about his blanket.
He calls it “my corner”.
He gets irritated if anyone
Else tries to look at it.
It brings him comfort like
Nothing else does, except
Maybe Mommy. I watch
Him wearing it out with
His fingers, and I smile.
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