I can’t understand why I persist to wander around / the tragic nature of my conception / why I can’t walk away / like one who boxes up the past / turns out the light / and closes the attic door? / No, I persist in sticking my head in / then my shoulders / until my whole body is standing in the midst / of a tragic moment in mother’s womb / from which I cannot extricate myself / even though I know there is no bread there / nothing to sustain life / Papa, I’m asking why I dwell in darkness / instead of coming into the light? / I lie all day / I pretend I am the un-cracked vessel / when in truth I am / an infinite number of shards pretending / Yes, I pretend.
Ellen June Wright is an American poet with British and Caribbean roots. Her work has been published in Plume, Tar River, Missouri Review, Verse Daily, Gulf Stream, Solstice, Louisiana Literature, Leon Literary Review, North American Review, Prelude and Gulf Coast, and is forthcoming in The Cimarron Review. She’s a Cave Canem and Hurston/Wright alumna and a Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net nominee.