When I was nine, my brother gave me a figurine of a deer for Christmas.
It was made from blown glass and when I turned it round in my hand,
Green light moved within it.
It was the closest thing to perfection that I had ever seen.
I still have that deer.
It has spent its life on mantel pieces, shelves, windowsills, and tables;
Never been dropped or knocked to the floor.
I don\'t know how it made it, all that time.
Then, I got afraid for it.
I put it in the breakfront in my dining room.
Now, my deer can see the world through seeded glass doors;
As safe as all the china,
And the trinkets my son made for me as a child.