This piece reminds me of a metaphor, of how people that move to America from different places bring their own culture and traditions. Drawing parallels between the grass as immigrants and the sand as unknown land, people have to make their place by adapting to the environment like the plants.
As a little kid, I always questioned what actually happens to my coin when I put it into this machine. Is it my coin that is squeezed and stretched, or does my coin fall into a separate compartment and I get a different souvenir? But now that I think about it, my coin must be falling into a separate compartment and I must be getting a different coin.