I treated your life like a snow globe.

Your heart thumped against the warm glass

as I embraced your fragility in my arms,

my premature child with glistening Indian-like skin

from the globe encompassing your life.

You who held a toothless smile while the frost fell,

whose gaze was crossed-eyed and body delicate like a figurine.

The sound of my voice was the child shaking our orb,

disturbing the peace and your perfect oasis of safety. 

But your toothless smile was invaded with teeth,

and distance held your hand instead of me.

At sixteen you decided to hurl our perfect globe.

Dust settled and the figures showed wear and tear

until my globe plummeted into the sea of forgotten memories,

the beady pellets of snow scattered across the tundra’s water

each bit swallowed by the icy waves.

I want to dive in to collect all the pieces but alas you are gone.

Now I peer out the windows coated with rime,

questioning if I will ever feel your heart beating again.

The dread I feel is like a snow storm with no roads,

no way to reach your warmth and safety.

After you broke free I noticed something different,

that I kept your love and affection in a snow globe all these years.

When you tried to break free I heated down the glass case;

I froze your feet and turned you white and popped your bubble.

I apologize for all the scattered shards of glass.

I just wish I could peer through the broken glass

and see you now.