Stained Glass

My sister made a stain glass shape at camp one summer. I call it a shape because there’s no other noun that could describe the connected geometric plates of different colors. My parents hung it on our kitchen window, along with the gods-eye I made when I was six, and the porcelain harlequin who was missing his pants. Years later, the stained glass must have broken because I found it in four separate pieces on the table in the living room. I could no longer remember how it looked when it was whole, or how the light shone through it.