semi-sphere

at night, in the pitch black
interrupted by a shell-shaped night light
when I was five
in my large room
shelves lined with barbies
and stuffed animals
I would shut my eyes tight
and rub the lids
and then in a flash would open them
and be surrounded by a semi-sphere of
sprinkling, multi-color, iridescent dots
raining down upon my bed
the semi-sphere
slowly decreasing
with the passing seconds
made me feel safe
and I would slowly drift off to sleep

at night, in the pitch black
slightly interrupted by a muffled flashlight
when I was twelve
in my smaller room
at one of the two houses I lived in
walls covered with pictures of dogs
and pre-teen heartthrobs
I would make a protective, tangible
semi-sphere
this time of my pink quilt
with my hand-held luminary
I opened my eyes
to the columns of words
on the thin pages
of a book that some called oppressive tradition
others called a love letter
I called it my comfort
imagining wings of refuge
round my bed
and I would slowly drift off to sleep

at night, in the pitch black
darkness uninterrupted
when I was seventeen
in the new room, smaller than the others
one option of two
floor covered in second-hand clothing
that my mother hated
and a typewriter with freshly inked pages scattered
my semi-sphere no longer constructed
replaced by fantasies
of leaving and creating anew
of falling in love
with my best friend
who hated me
and who I hated in return
finding comfort in faith
and the inevitable ending
of temporary problems
I would hug my pillow
desperate for contact
and I would slowly drift off to sleep

tonight, in the pitch black
interrupted by the flashing screen of technology
I am of drinking age
in my rented room, the smallest of all
walls covered with pictures of loves
and the floors littered with books
the semi-sphere lays in fragments
small sapphire shards
that cut up my safety and confidence
I sob into my blanket
my stomach contracting and releasing
with each uneven cry
I wear a little shard on my finger
to remind me of the missing second home
of the man with the seagull colored hair
and the poise of an eagle
in my little room with the broken semi-sphere
I mourn my loss