The Shape of a Heart

She could not speak a word of English.

Speaking, instead, with her hands,
     and those dark, expressive eyes.

I felt a "tap, tap" on my shoulder, and looked up to find her holding
      a ball of play-doh in one hand,
 a heart-shaped cookie cutter, in the other.

And, I immediately understood.

     "Do you want me to help you?" I asked.

Her eyes and her smile told me "yes".

I placed the ball of play-doh on the table, and showed her how to roll it out with the rolling pin.   

     "First, this way," I said.  "And, now, this way."

We rolled it together until it was big enough for the cookie cutter to fit.

She placed the heart on top of the dough, and together, we pressed down firmly.

      "Now, lift it up!"  I said.

And, she did.

Her face lit up, as she stared at the perfectly shaped figure,
     and traced it with her perfectly shaped finger. 

I showed her how to pull up the dough around it, leaving ONLY the heart.   

Her smile was even brighter.       

Carefully, she peeled the heart off the table,
     and held it in her hands . . .  like a treasure.

She walked around the classroom with this heart in her hands,
      just staring and smiling.    

But, soon . . . "tap, tap" on my shoulder again.

She lifted her heart up for me to see.  

She had taken her heart shaped "cookie" over to the texture table (which was filled with oats),
     and sprinkled it with oats.    

I smiled at her and thought, what a clever girl.

     "This is the most beautiful heart I have ever seen," I told her.

And, it was.