On her shelf sat a glass
heart nestled among scores
of stuffed bunnies, safe until
the tantrum. Windmill arms
hit the heart, smashed it amidst
the bunnies on the floor.
Bunnies became dust-
bunnies before you
came to save the pieces,
sweeping them into the furnace
heated by the warmth of
your smile
and you lifted the molten
mass on your glassblowing
straw, breathing new
ventricles into the growing
orange core, fashioning
a new heart
laced with color
and care
and before it had a chance to cool
you set it high
on your own shelf where no child
can ever break it,
but if you shine it
that heartwarming smile
it is liable to melt once more
all over your shelf.