Poor things, little embroidered hearts
exposed for all the world to see.
I like to picture them in a better place
(rather than in the bottom of some long-forgotten toy box,
squished under so much Barbie paraphernalia);
a place where frayed yarn hair is the height of fashion,
and contoured waistlines are considered icky;
a place where every Annie has an Andy
(or another Annie, whatever);
a place where striped stockings hang
on clotheslines in the sun,
and aprons are entirely optional.