Ellen June Wright

some mornings, after prayer, my mind wanders down to the darkness  of the lower decks, to women  packed in like dry goods upon a shelf hardly room to stretch their legs, their arms. I feel them there in the discomfort of womanhood—  moon phases passing through their bodies  during the long ship’s journey or pregnancy

Let me take you into the room where I slept in a stranger’s house. Let me take you into the darkened room by the amber glow of one small lamp— into the musty room of the two-story where I slept the untroubled sleep of an innocent; then opened my eyes to see, as if in