Perhaps it was displaced love….
The little glass figurines glued to paper
Were trapped too,
I’d play with them for hours,
But was never allowed to free their glass paws.
“Just leave them intact” -exactly as they came to you”
My mother would say,
Who says something free or old isn’t special?
They came from a greasy old gas station,
But someone lovingly brushed them with shades of grey and brown,
With a tiny paint brush, they tended to their little eyes,
They belonged to the part of my mother I loved
The child inside her side;
If only I could free them both.