My Shield

My Shield

A dark room, 

a chair beneath me, I assume.

Then a harsh, blinding flash—

a glaring bare bulb

reflecting off its silver globe

and directly into my eyes.

I slam them shut

and tilt my head down.

But next, a sudden shutdown 

to dark.

The flash in my retina dances,

then dims back to blackness.

Open the eyes, head back up.

Comfortable darkness.

Then it blazes back, brighter still.

Even closed, my eyes sting

against the jarring flash.

My eyelids press down harder,

the tiny muscles clenched against

my teary, shining cheekbones. 

Then, a hand. The hand

that first molded light into photons,

that first flicked fire to life,

that hand shields me, 

but only for an instant.

It reaches away, comes back.

The glaring light shudders, 

then darkens, 

and becomes a soft amber glow, 

filtered finally by 

a heavy, bronze garment

still being straightened over the bulb

by that hand, now joined by His other. 

Once a blinding blaze,

now only a gentle gleam— 

a radiance even—

illuminating His hands,

full of love, 

casting fingertip shadows 

on the dust-colored walls

of my heart.